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hyuckmov · 1 year

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request #4 - himbo haechan

part 2! wc: 13.8k (yeah...) genre: fluff, smut (18+ minors dni), angst, himbo to fwb to lovers haechan warnings: mutual masturbation (kind of), sex over zoom call, softdom haechan and needy desperate haechan, mommy kink once, use of princess and angel and baby, fingering, unprotected fucking, overstim, haechan swears a lot, hair pulling, degradation/haechan likes pain and being humiliated, making love, nipple sucking, voice kink, thigh riding, haechan chokes and sucks on his own fingers, idk man a/n: i hope this is hot. i hope you feel this. i hope you like this. i don't know if this is my best work because i feel like the writing craft is so shoddy at times but idk... AS A PIONEERING HIMBO HAECHAN FIC, i hope this marks an important moment for the himbo haechan thinkers <3 thank you for waiting and thank you for supporting me. please let me know what you think and please be nice...

the first time you meet haechan, he doesn't exactly make a good impression.

"what are you doing?"

slowly, he lifts his head from where his lips were brushing your neck. "um…" blinking, his eyes refocus on yours. "trying to kiss you."

"haechan!" you hiss.

eyebrows raised, he beams back at you. "y/n!" he hisses back, imitating your tone.

"i came here with someone else." you push his shoulder lightly, trying to make space between him and you but it's no use — his body slumps even harder, and you can see his eyes scanning your neck, zoning out of the conversation.

"i know…" he mumbles, tracing a fingertip at your pulse point and making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

"you do?"

"yeah…" his other hand hovers in the air, as if he's deciding whether to grab your waist or press his palm to your lower back.

"so you know i'm talking to someone right now, and it would be bad if i went around kissing my project partners...?"

silence.

you dip your head slightly to try to look at him through his messy bangs, only to jolt slightly when you glimpse his expression. his eyes already half-lidded with lust, mouth hanging open and drool glistening on his plump lips. why did he look so…needy? fucked out? it had only been about a minute or so since you saw him walk towards you, the easy smile he kept on at full blast. you had exchanged small talk for about 10 seconds over your professor, and then he started nosing at the juncture between your jaw and your neck.

"haechan?" you prompted, hesitantly. "everything okay?"

"um...all's good," he mutters, before moving back towards you, lips puckered slightly and ready to mark your skin.

spluttering, you push him away, again, confusion starting to settle in for you too. could he not take a hint?

"were you even listening?" you ask, incredulously. "i said i'm talking to someone right now."

"uh huh." he tilts his head to the side. "um, did you say something after that? sorry-" he breathes, wincing at the frustration on your face. "you just smell so good, i couldn't pay attention…" and as if he couldn't help himself, you noticed his body gravitate towards you, again.

gripping onto his shoulder to keep him at a distance, you say slowly, "haechan, if i'm talking to someone, it wouldn't be good for me to mess around with other people."

you see the words register in his head, see the furrow in his brow deepen as he ponders what you're saying. "it wouldn't?"

"no, it wouldn't."

"but you're not dating him yet."

"no, i'm not." you see him open his mouth, so you quickly add, "but we're on our way, and i want to show him i'm serious about it."

"but i'm serious about you." it was practically lazy – the way he pulled your hand off his shoulder and intertwined your fingers with his.

you couldn't help the thrill that ran down your spine as you were reminded of how strong he was, even though he didn't necessarily look it.

"serious about me or serious about fucking me?" you bite back.

"both."

you let out a scoff. unable to stop yourself, you blurt out, "are you used to women saying yes to you or something?"

"huh?"

"where do you get your confidence?"

he raises his eyebrows at you in genuine concern as if you're the confused one in this conversation. "where do you think?" he makes a vague gesture to indicate his pretty face, and you're a little annoyed at how right he is. with heavy eye makeup, mismatched contact lenses giving his look a more piercing quality, moles tracing across his cheek just begging to be suckled with kisses and those heart-shaped lips…you think you would be hard pressed to find a woman in this room who would say no to his shameless flirting.

"you shouldn't assume, haechan." something close to confidence begins to stir up in you, and you straighten, shaking your hand out of his. "it's not nice to kiss someone without asking them properly. you should always try to read the situation, and make sure you have consent."

listening intently like a student in a classroom, he nods slowly to show he understands. "not nice, got it. anything else?"

"don't try to steal people away from their dates," you add on, inspired.

"right."

"and don't say things like 'i'm serious about fucking you' if you don't really mean–"

"-this is hot." he interrupts, words blurring together in a rush. his eyes unfocused and dreamy, he drags his gaze up and down your body indulgently. "you teaching me things."

"hae-"

"teaching me how to be a good boy…" he breathes. "yeah. fuck."

your jaw drops, momentarily speechless. and yet, despite everything you were supposedly teaching him, his straightforwardness, the lack of filter, the raw desire that seemed to course through his entire body…you couldn't deny that it was making you feel a certain way too.

fixing him with a look that conveyed as much seriousness and frustration you could muster, you shake your head.

and he cowers.

"sorry…" he mumbles, stepping away from you, almost ashamed. "i should've kept that to myself."

you resist the urge to laugh. "yes, maybe you should have."

turning to go, you pat him on the arm lightly, feeling a little bad for him. "see you around in class, okay?"

he nods, eyes cast to the floor gloomily, and you're about to exit and head back to the main room when he calls your name.

"y/n?"

"yes?"

"i meant it."

"what?"

"i meant it when i said i was serious about fucking you." quietly, and with surprising gentleness, "i wouldn't lead you on like that. i wouldn't say it if i didn't mean it."

and as you turn your back on the pretty boy in the hallway, you couldn't help the butterflies that seemed to burst into life in your chest at his words.

the second time you meet haechan, you're explaining your assignment to him in class, and he’s looking at you like you hung the moon.

the third time, he keeps up an endless stream of compliments for you as he walks you back to your apartment to get ready for your date (with heavy insinuations that he could treat you better, the entire time).

after that, you sort of lose count. from a name told to you by your professor, to the boy who couldn't seem to stand without your help at the party, he slipped into your life with no intention of leaving.

"i'm frustrated because i WANT to fuck you-"

no intention of leaving, no intention of changing, at all.

his words come out louder than you expect, ringing out in the silence of the library. he's practically raising his voice, the aggravation plain and clear as his words escalate in pitch. embarrassingly, people studying at the adjacent tables start to look over at you two, drawn by haechan's distinctive tone of voice, wondering what the campus resident himbo-heartthrob could be saying.

and he's still talking.

interrupting him with a loud shushing sound, you grab his arm and haul him out of his seat. he stumbles a little over his steps as he follows you obediently out of the library, the rant momentarily cut off.

the moment the two of you burst out of the library doors, he's seizing you by your arms, his expression eager and delighted.

"my place? i don't think my roommate's home, and there's this toy i want-"

"lee haechan." your jaw drops. you seem to be doing a lot of that when you're around him.

breathless, his eyes shine with delight. "yeah?"

you almost don't want to ask. "why do you think i dragged you out of the library?"

"you're ready to fuck right now?" his expression falls when he finally reads yours, taking in your stony glare and the hard set of your jaw. "oh. i did something wrong, didn't it?"

"haechan…" you can't decide what to start with.

"wait, i'm sorry-" he blurts out, letting go of you. "i shouldn't have grabbed you…"

"you shouldn't have raised your voice in a library!"

"i'm SORRY-" gulping, he tries to make his voice smaller. "i just got really excited…"

"when you are in small spaces, you use your 'inside voice', okay?"

"my…" he gulps. "inside voice?"

"your inside voice means a volume level only meant for you," you point. "and me, the person you are talking to." you point at yourself.

"why?"

"do you want the whole library to know you want to fuck me?"

"i don't mind." a beat. "wait, fuck- wrong answer. no, i don't." he shakes his head firmly. "no."

"exactly." you let out a breath. "so please, the next time you want to have this discussion, make sure you're not announcing it for the entire student population, okay?"

he opens his mouth, but then quickly shuts it. a blush beginning to spread across his cheeks, he buries his face in his hands, sweater covering his palms up to his fingers.

you sigh. "what is it, haechan?"

"i don't want to say," he whispers.

"why?"

"you'll get really angry at me." chastised, he bites his lip. and then, quieter, "i'm sorry i embarrassed you."

"welll…you didn't really embarrass me,” you mumble. "haechan…"

a muffled sound.

"am i actually just being really mean to you? you can be honest-" you add, seeing something flicker in his eyes as he removes his hands from his face. "i won't get mad."

"you're kind of mean…" he hesitates. "but i really like it. because i know it means you care about me."

your heart warms.

"and also because i find it really hot," he continues, unabashedly. "like…a part of me wants to push you until you freak out on me. but also the other part of me just wants to be good for you, you know?"

you stare at him. his hair falling lazily on his forehead, a breathless and windswept look to him as if his own desire was physically stealing his breath away from his lungs. you'd noticed before how his eyes were always watery with some sort of emotion, his long lashes gently tangling and untangling, meeting his blushy skin. his pouty lips… forming your name.

"fuck…i should have kept that to myself, right?" he tilts his head, blinking purposefully at you. "y/n?"

you clear your throat. "it's fine." another pause, as you wonder how you can draw the conversation back to something less intimate, because the way he's looking at you — as if he wants to dive into your soul just by looking into your eyes, — was making you regret ever dragging him out of the library. "um…" sex. talk about sex. "so…you were going to use a toy for our first time together?"

caught off guard, he gapes at you, trying to recall where he let slip his plans for the night. "i…" he blinks. "how did you know? did i tell you?"

he's adorable. pressing on, you try to bring back the tone of defiance in your voice. "couldn't make me cum all by yourself? are you really that unconfident?"

from the way he's tonguing the inside of his cheek, you know you've successfully switched the tone. "princess…" his voice is slow and patronising. "don't talk about things you don't understand." you don't think you've ever heard him speak like that, cockiness dripping from every syllable. is this the haechan that everyone else knew?

"i don't-"

"i saw the way you were looking at me just now…" eyes fluttering, he slouches closer to you and you back away on instinct. the movement makes him smile. "you think i'm pretty, just like everyone else does, hm?"

it takes everything in you to roll your eyes, stepping further away from him as if it would break the spell. "you're so full of yourself."

"and you like it." at the look on your face, he backpedals instantly, the confidence draining from him in an instant as he adjusts his bag on his shoulders. "right…sorry. you're still seeing someone." he doesn't even try to hide the bitterness in his tone.

a moment passes.

"let's just… go get dinner," you suggest, lightly. he nods distractedly, hooking a hand around your bag strap and lazily tugging it onto his shoulder, something he likes to do for you.

the walk to the restaurant is only a few minutes, and it's only when you reach that he speaks up again.

"y/n?"

"yeah?"

"he….he makes you happy, right?"

"huh?"

"the guy you're seeing." he swallows, fingers curling tighter around your bag unconsciously. "you're happy with him, right?"

biting your lip, you nod slowly. "i guess."

if he can sense your hesitance, he doesn't press — body relaxing considerably as he nods to himself too. "then that's all that matters."

and he reaches over to hold the door open for you, face bright and happy again as he patiently waits for you to enter first.

haechan, 11.00pm: i hope you got a kiss today you, 11.00pm: what haechan, 11.01pm: idk you just looked really pretty today and i really wanted to kiss you you, 11.01pm: so that's why you were looking at me like that haechan, 11.01pm: yeah but i can't kiss you so haechan, 11.01pm: i hope you got a kiss somehow…

haechan, 11.12pm: so did you? you, 11.12pm: did i what? haechan, 11.12pm: did you get a kiss haechan, 11.12pm: WAIT haechan, 11.12pm: don't tell me haechan, 11.12pm: i'll get sad you, 11.12pm: okay haechan, 11.12pm: okay what? you, 11.13pm: okay, i won't tell you haechan, 11.13pm: fuck haechan, 11.13pm: i want you so bad… you, 11.13pm: HAECHAN haechan, 11.13pm: TYPO sorry sorry you, 11.13pm: you can't typo a whole phrase haechan, 11.13pm: yes you can… i just did…

for someone who doesn't always know what he's talking about, haechan loves to talk. a lot.

"you're going to sleep? already?" even in the low quality image on your phone screen, you can see the crestfallen look on his face.

"we both have an early class tomorrow."

"we can take turns sleeping in that class…like we did last week…"

accusatorily, you jab a finger at your phone camera, causing his nose to scrunch in alarm as if you were really there, backing away from his screen. "you slept for a whole two hours that time!"

"i-" sulking, he rolls over on his side, face half smushed against the bed. "i'll do better this time."

"we can always talk tomorrow," you soothe, getting comfortable in your own bed and holding up your phone a little higher so the angle didn't look so bad on videocall.

although it was ridiculous, you couldn't help but feel insecure at how pretty he looked all the time, even when it was 2 in the morning and his voice was low and scratchy, or when he just woke up and his hair stuck out in all sorts of ways…his eyes never stopped sparkling in the terribly endearing way, his skin looking soft under the warm lights of his room.

"but i want to talk to you now…" he says, softly.

"okay…what about?"

"i don't know…" still in the same soft voice that drives you crazy, he blinks tiredly at his screen. "anything…i guess…"

"um…what did you have for dinner?"

you can't help but let out a laugh when he whines loudly in annoyance "i mean deep stuff. stuff you wouldn't tell anyone else."

"you think of something then!"

"wait-" a look passes over his face, you can literally see the idea hitting him, the flickering of a lightbulb over his head: he sits up, animated, and starts pulling his laptop onto his lap. "give me a second." he's typing furiously on his keyboard, nose scrunched in concentration.

"you don't even type this seriously in class," you accuse, half-heartedly. when he doesn't respond, you raise your voice a little. "haechan? what are you doing?"

"nothing." he turns his attention back to the phone screen, and beams at you with a brightness that catches you off guard. "just had an assignment that i forgot to submit."

"um…okay…"

"but i have my ideas for the questions now-" he continues, his words coming out rushed from the blatant excitement in his tone. "so let's start."

"why are you so…eager?" suspicious, you narrow your eyes at him playfully. "are the questions sex-related? you perv…"

"no," he shakes his head vehemently, "i swear, they're not. i just…" and suddenly he's shy, biting at his puffy lips, and even in the dim glow of the room you can see the flush in his cheeks. "i just want to get to know you more…"

"okay…"

"okay, let's start." he clears his throat.

"given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?"

"what the fuck?" you gape at him. out of all the things he could have asked you, there was no way you would have thought of this. "haechan, are you trying to get me to do some assignment for you?"

"i'm genuinely curious-" he tries to defend himself, a hint of a whine making its way into his voice. "i mean, i can go first if you need more time to think…"

"i don't think i've ever heard you use the word 'whom'."

"now that's just mean…" pouting, his eyes go round and sad, and you can't tell if he's doing it on purpose, but when he nibbles on your lips you feel your breath catch in your throat.

fuck. stumbling over your words, you rush, "uh…i can answer i guess."

his eyes crinkle into a smile. "okay, who?"

"um…probably that researcher guy who we're doing our assignment on. then i can just ask him all the questions and cite him as the source and we would be done."

"that's a good answer," he says, encouragingly.

"okay…so who would you want as a dinner guest?"

"you," he says, immediately.

"haechan, this isn't going to be fun if your questions are all set up as lines…"

"i'm serious…" and he is – there's no hint of any rehearsed expression on his face. "i only ever want to see you." and then, smiling, he shifts around happily on his seat on the bed. "okay! next question…"

"what would constitute a perfect day for you?"

"how many questions do you have?"

"i don't know… i'm making these up as i go along," he shrugs. "so, what would constitute a perfect day for you?"

you think about it, for a second. "i think my perfect day would be really simple, and everything would just go right. i would wake up early, there wouldn't be a queue at the cafe for breakfast, i get to class with my coffee-"

"which class?"

"uh… our class?"

"okay, good," a small smile playing on his lips. "and then?"

"and then…i can answer all your questions in class, and afterwards we go to the library and miraculously we can get something done…" you think back to a few evenings you've had where you've genuinely, really, been happy. "we get hotpot for dinner and we get a huge discount, and i go back home and fall asleep really easily."

haechan is smiling so hard you want to ask him if his cheeks hurt.

"what's so funny?"

"it's funny…" he looks at you coyly. "that's my perfect day too."

"number 10…"

"motherfucker-" you sit up, startling haechan, who drops his phone.

"wha-"

"you have a list of questions?" you wait for him to pick up his phone again before you point at the screen, savagely. you don't even have to look to know he's doing his cower again. "what happened to coming up with it as you go along? are these even your questions?"

"y/n…" he shuffles around uncomfortably, picking at his bedspread.

"how many questions are there in total?"

"36." his eyes widening, he backpedals. "actually, i don't know…um…it depends…"

"i'm going to bed."

"no we have to finish all 36 questions!"

"we have to? why do we have to?"

"please?" he looks up at you, and you should be used to it by now, used to the shifts in tone and the intensity of his emotions when his eyes meet yours, but still it makes your heart hammer a little harder every time. "please? i really just want to get to know you…"

a pause.

sighing, you lie back on your pillows again. "what's number 10?"

"what roles do love and affection play in your life?" haechan lets out a yawn, rubbing his face against his comforter.

the question wakes you up a little. you've kind of guessed that he was using a list of questions that would get increasingly intimate as they went on, but this one felt more direct than the others. and although so far you've been honest about everything, careless sometimes with your answer but never dishonest, you don't know how truthfully you should answer this time.

haechan blinks lazily at the screen. "um…" he rubs at his eyes, "i can go first. i think…love and affection are easy."

the words feel like a punch to your gut. "really?"

"yeah," he continues. "i mean, i'm affectionate with practically everyone i meet…and i'm not scared if i end up falling in love. i don't always know it when i'm in the moment…but i think i like how it feels," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

"you like how what feels?"

"being in love," he says, softly, looking at you with gentleness in his eyes.

"but what if it doesn't end well?" you ask more for yourself than for him, and he answers as if it's the easiest thing in the world.

"then it ends. but at least you were in love." tilting his head, he asks, "is it…not easy for you?"

you can't find the words, so you shake your head.

his brow furrows. "aren't you seeing someone right now?"

"yeah but i don't love him." he opens his mouth, so you add on quickly, "and he doesn't love me."

"then you shouldn't be with him," he said, firmly. things were always so simple when he outlined them. "you don't love each other, so you shouldn't waste your time together."

"but he's not a bad person…" you have no idea why you're defending someone you don't even really care about. "he's generally nice to me…"

"none of that matters if there's no love," he runs a hand through his hair, and that's when you realise that he's genuinely angry. "i didn't know you didn't love him. if i did, i would have talked to you about it ages ago…"

"it's not so easy, haechan. it's not so easy to find someone who loves you back. sometimes, you just have to be grateful that someone is willing to spend time with you, grateful that they're not horrible-"

he cuts you off with a frustrated sound. "i don't understand." rubbing his face with his hands, you hear him exhale shakily, the sound crackling in your earphones.

"it's okay," you try to calm him, making your tone as light as possible. "these are just questions, right? we don't have to agree…"

he settles down, but you can tell he's still lost in thought, his jaw clenched. "i guess."

"which question are we on?"

he checks his laptop screen. "21."

"do you…want to keep going?"

he nods, sighing one more time before focusing on you again. this time, you can tell he's managed to calm down, the gentleness returned to his demeanour. "i'm sorry. i'm really trying to understand what you mean, but maybe we're just different."

"yeah…" affection and love did feel easy, even being friends with haechan. you think it's maybe become a part of your life that you couldn't live without — the little ways he took care of you, how he never hesitated to compliment you or defend you. "i want to be more like you, though."

"huh?"

"the thing about love and affection…" you mumble. "i want it to be as easy as it is for you." his eyes light up, and you hate how it immediately seems to lift a weight from your chest.

it's strange that haechan's the one you turn to when things eventually fall apart. but at the same time, it makes perfect sense, because he's never once made you feel small for what you thought, or invalidated anything you've felt.

you didn't even have to tell him. you had stumbled into class, numb from all your hurt, and the moment haechan raised his head to look at you, he just knew.

"what's wrong?" he mouths, a look of pure fear in his eyes as he scans your surroundings, trying to figure out what could've done this to you.

"i'll tell you later," you're barely able to whisper back as you slide into your seat next to him, eyes already filling with tears at how easy it was for haechan to read you. your heart warming from the urgency in his tone.

without hesitation, he leans over far in his seat to squeeze you into a hug. his lips ghosting over the crown of your hair, you can hear the worry in his voice even as he tries to reassure you.

for the next 2 hours, he casts worried glances over at you, taking in the way you're barely listening, fingers ghosting over your keyboard and typing nothing. the lecture barely ends before he's reaching over to pack up for you, clumsy hands shuffling your papers into your folder the way he knows you like them, shouldering your backpack as he tugs you gently towards the door and out into the sun.

he leads you to a quiet place on campus, and if you were a little less focused on yourself, you'd wonder if this was where he usually took his dates to kiss them. it's secluded and private, soft grass underneath your shoes as he guides you to a bench under a tree, sliding into a seat next to you and taking your hand in his immediately.

on one of your study sessions together, the two of you had taken a love language quiz, and it was no surprise when his top love language showed up as physical touch, while yours showed up as words of affirmation.

tears are slipping down your cheeks, and he pulls you into his arms — a gesture more for him than you but you melt into his touch all the same. his palms clumsily pat between your shoulder blades, his touch heavy as he strokes down your spine, rubbing at your shoulders as you try to stop from shaking.

"do you want to talk about it?" he murmurs, eyes wide and concerned.

briefly, you consider not telling him, the thought of having to materialise everything with your words too painful to bear. but his voice was so gentle, his touch so soothing, that you feel he at least deserved to know why you were crying in his arms like this.

"h-he took me to the party to make her jealous."

his movements still.

"i knew we didn't love each other…but i thought…i thought at least…he must've liked something in me, right?"

he's at a loss for words as you cry harder into his shirt.

"you don't have to say anything…" you reassure him. "i know it's stupid. i didn't even like him anyway, it just hurts my pride to think he never saw anything in me."

"it's not stupid," he says, firmly. "you rejected me at that party for him, right? you've been rejecting me for weeks because of him."

you nod into his chest.

"you're not stupid." he declares. "he's the one who's wrong." and there it is again — the simplicity, the way everything was black and white with him. he was completely and wholly on your side, his hand diligently going back to stroke your hair, dipping his fingers to rub circles into the nape of your neck.

"i'm surprised you're not being inappropriate right now."

he doesn't respond at first, but his movements falter again.

"i just really don't like seeing you hurt," he says, quietly.

"oh."

"wait, don't get me wrong, i think you look very pretty when you cry," he adds, sincerely. it makes you laugh, a little bit of the haechan you first met coming back. but he mistakes it for disbelief, tripping over his words to make you understand, raising his voice. "you really are, and you sound so pretty too-"

wrapping your arms around his middle, you lean into his touch, smiling into the fabric of his shirt. "thanks, haechan."

"it's just that…i don't like thinking that someone made you feel like this. it makes me feel…" his palm moves down to hold the side of your face delicately, fingers moving over your cheeks as he chooses his words. "it makes me feel really helpless. it reminds me i can't stop people from hurting you."

his voice is small, and you can barely catch his words, but you feel like you've been slammed in the chest. you hesitate, wondering if you should press him further.

"why?"

"what do you mean?"

"why does it make you feel helpless?"

he huffs, frustrated. "because it does."

he runs a hand through his hair as he rambles on. "i don't know why i don't like seeing you hurt. or why i don't like the idea of your shoulders being sore like mine are so i carry your things around for you everywhere. i don't know why i want to mark your neck but i don't ever want to see you bruised, or how i want to fuck you so badly, but also sometimes i get this feeling like… like i don't want to fuck you, i just –" he cuts himself off with a groan, tugging at his long hair desperately.

you don't reply. you can't trust your voice.

so you ease yourself out of his hold, which had gotten increasingly tight. with a hand, you guide his hands down from his hair and into yours, and bring your other palm up to touch his face. he goes limp at your touch, leaning into you like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

"why am i telling you this?" he whispers, eyes never leaving yours.

"haechan-"

"you must think i'm pathetic." you feel his tears on your hand, hot and wet, before his breathing starts to pick up and soft whimpers rise from his throat.

"don't say that."

"i mean you," he gasps, words coming out in stuttered sounds. "y-you were the one who needed me to c-comfort you, and n-now i'm the one crying, and i…" he lets out a low sound, emotions overwhelming him all at once. "i really want to hurt the guy who made you feel like that."

"haechan…"

"where does he live? it'll only take 5 minutes i swear…" he swallows, hard. "i could take him in a fight, i saw him at the party…"

"you're not going to get reported to campus police for him. he's not worth it." but you can tell your words are getting lost on him, his hands shaking as he fumbles them out of your grip, trying to intertwine your fingers.

"i just need to do s-something right now," he breathes, hard. "anything. it hurts so bad, y/n. why does it hurt so much for me?"

something about this — about him, calms you. the pain from before fading into a dull ache, and a new feeling swelling in your chest as you look at the boy in front of you. the feeling of being needed by someone grounding you, affection roaring in your ears as he leans into your touch, watching you like he was trying to decipher the thoughts buzzing like static in your mind.

"take me home, haechan."

he blinks up at you.

"i want to go home," you whisper.

and, drawing you into his arms, he does exactly that.

he picks up your favourite ice cream on the drive home, and stays glued to your back on the elevator ride up. coddling you and cooing praises in your ear, tucking you into bed and drawing up a chair next to you as if you were ill. you ignore the fact that this was the first time you were indulging in his touch and it felt so right, the fact that he cried just because you did, for reasons he claimed not to know and you didn't want to admit.

but as you watched him move around in your kitchen, putting away dishes from the dinner he made you — his broad frame stretching out his shirt, shoulder blades sharp under the warm light, you were met with the sinking feeling that the boy who was just out to fuck you might be out for something far worse.

"i'm not setting you up with him," haechan's words come out in a blur. "okay? we're just walking to the party together."

"yes, i'm aware of that. how many more times are you going to repeat this to me?"

"haechan, why are you still hiding me behind your back?"

"this is NOT a set-up!" he hisses, veins in his arms popping out as he keeps a firm grip on his friend, you presume, keeping him out of your sight. "i do NOT want you to like him, okay?"

"okay haechan, i get it."

he looks at you, suspicious, but finally releases his hold, arms crossing over his chest instead as he scowls. "fine. y/n, this is my friend renjun."

looking a little dishevelled, and very annoyed, renjun steps out from behind haechan. "hey." his face breaks into a sweet smile when he sees you, eyes brightening with recognition. "wait…were you in that statistics course from last semester?"

"yeah i was! were you the one who did the project on social psychology? i thought it was so smart…"

"i had a lot of help with it," he beams back. "actually, i have more resources on the topic if you'd like them."

"SHE DOESN'T WANT TO FUCK YOU."

haechan's voice abruptly booms out in the middle of the street, making you and renjun jump. the handful of people passing by turn their heads to look at your trio, making shame burn low in your stomach as you wince apologetically. haechan's face is flushed, hands curled into fists by his side, a glare fixed upon renjun as if he were his worst enemy.

"haechan!" you whisper, annoyed. "did we not practice using our inside voice?"

"fuck the inner voice!" he hisses back at you with equal venom, tugging you closer to him and away from renjun. his face screwed up, he jabs a finger at him. "she's not gonna fuck you dude. lay off her."

renjun is looking back and forth between you and haechan, a knowing look settling onto his face as he meets haechan's frown with an easy smile.

"don't worry about it, man. she's all yours."

"yeah, that's right, she's mine," haechan repeats, savagely, before the words coming out of his mouth seem to take him by surprise. confused, he looks over at you, trying to figure out what exactly he just said. "wait…fuck i mean…um…"

"you know what? i'm going to go ahead first," renjun interrupts, giving you a small wave. "see you at jaemin's."

"YEAH, GO AWAY RENJUN."

"sorry," you mumble, now trying to free yourself from haechan's tight grip on your arm which he doesn't even seem to be aware of.

"word of advice," renjun mutters to you, pointedly ignoring the way haechan was hissing at him. "pull on his hair. it shuts him up real fast."

it's when you finally manage to pry his fingers off of you when haechan is brought back down to earth, throwing a venomous look at renjun's retreating back as he lets go of you reluctantly.

you round on him. "well?"

"w-well what?" he mumbles, looking away, acting out a textbook portrayal of guilty.

you narrow your eyes at him, and some part of you is happy to see him gulp in fear like he usually does. "what do you have to say for yourself?"

"i'm not the problem here," he mutters. "it's renjun. he's such a sleaze."

"renjun? a sleaze?" you laugh before you can stop yourself. "you're more of a sleaze than he is on a regular day."

"ME?" he bursts out, head snapping to you. at least this time, the people in your vicinity seem to be used to the outbursts, and they don't bother to turn to look. "I'M NOT…that's not…" and then he's whipping out his phone, biting his lip in concentration, eyebrows drawn close together as he scrolls through whatever's he's looking at.

you sigh. "haechan, what are you doing?"

"immoral…corrupt…sordid…" he raises his voice again. "fuck google definitions. why is it that none of these words mean what i think sleaze means?"

"could you not change the subject?" you start, but he talks over you.

"yeah," he emphasises, viciously. "you're right. see, i just wanted to expand your social circle, it's not my fault renjun was making eyes at you,"

"he wasn't-"

"he was about to invite you over,"

"did you hallucinate-"

"that's so…so insensitive, like couldn't he just take a hint? and you were wearing your fuck-me skirt today-"

"i do NOT have a fuck-me skirt-"

"no it's a fuck haechan skirt that's what it is, because whenever i see you in it i-"

"will you shut up?" annoyed, you reach around to the back of his neck, and tug harshly on his long hair, really hoping to make it hurt.

you expect him to stop talking, maybe cry out in pain.

you're not expecting his knees go weak as he lets out an achy, high-pitched moan that shudders through his entire body.

"hey, haechan's quiet today!" jaemin points out, cheerfully. "y/n, could you pass me the pepper?"

putting on a smile, you pass the shaker over to him. "we had an argument on the way here, that's probably why."

"you two should fight more," jaemin says, before taking a sip of his soup. "dinner's almost over and he's barely made a sound."

renjun just smiles to himself.

"what. the fuck."

haechan's still gasping for breath, and when you raise your hand absentmindedly, his arms shoot up quickly to protect his head. "don't-!"

"i'm not going to do it again."

"okay good." his arms fall to his side, before he's looking at you with a mixture of sadness and wistfulness. "wait…like…never?"

you narrow your eyes.

"y/n, can you come with me please?" haechan is looking at you urgently, leg bouncing as he tugs on your sleeve. "i want to talk to you in private."

sighing, you excuse yourself from the table, letting haechan tug you away from the living room and into what looks like an empty guest room.

clicking the door shut, he sits down on the bed, patting the space next to him impatiently to get you to join him.

"what's wrong?"

"i want to ask you something." there's a sincerity in the way he reaches takes your hand, his voice steady, and calm, and sure.

"okay…"

"i've been good this past week, right?" he watches your face closely, looking for an answer. "like…i wanted to show you i care, and i wanted to take care of you and help you forget…your breakup…"

"you've been really good to me, haechan," you affirm quietly. because he has.

"and i've kept my thoughts to myself," he adds. "because…you told me to do that…"

"yeah."

"do you…" he struggles with the words. "do you want me to keep…keeping my thoughts to myself? like, does it make you really uncomfortable…" he looks like he's in physical pain, brows furrowed in concentration.

"no, it doesn't…" you admit, feeling a little exposed.

"what about…so if…" he twists at his fingers. "so if i…made a move…like the first time we met at the party…would you…?"

"i think i would." looking away, feeling that the room was suddenly burning hot, you mumble out, "so you don't have to worry about holding back or-"

"-good, because i've been hard ever since you pulled on my hair."

he's getting that look again, lips parted and swollen. he slides a hand around your waist, the weight of his body leaning on yours feeling all too familiar. only this time, there was no one and nothing you could put between yourself and the raw need that was in every fibre of his being. always brutally honest about how much he wanted you, looking at you with eyes that could swallow you whole. and now that there was no one else, you were free falling right into him.

your voice is scratchy with nerves. "do you want me to do it again?"

"to be very honest, it kind of kills the mood when you ask," he mumbles, now pressing the pads of his fingers under your shirt and into your soft skin.

laughing, you slide your hands up his neck and into his hair again, relishing in the way his body tenses and his breaths start to come shallow and fast. curling your fingers around the strands, you pull on them softly, increasing in pressure as he throws his head back.

"fuck," he pants, hands moving quickly now, tugging at the hem of your shirt. "wanted this since the day i saw you."

well at least he's honest. hesitating slightly, you grasp his wrists gently to stop his movements. "haechan…you know this is me giving you permission right?"

"huh?" his eyes cloudy, he struggles slightly against you, hands still trying to reach for your skin. "i mean…yeah…"

"so after this, we'll figure something out?" you look at him hopefully, trying to meet his eyes which were currently darting around, scanning your body haphazardly. until you let out a gasp, because somehow he's overpowered you — pushing you onto the bed roughly, his hands now gripping your wrists and holding them above your head with one hand, the other resting heavy on your hip.

"you talk too much," he says, lowly. swiftly pressing his lips to the side of your neck, he bites down on your shoulder next, and you hiss at the sting. in retaliation, you manage to release one of your hands from his grip, giving his hair a sharp tug — making him rut his hips into yours.

"me? what about you?" you tease, breathless as he grinds into you, "with all your talk…all your thoughts, i kind of expected more…but you're whining and we've barely touched."

at that, he stills.

he still has you pinned down by his weight on your torso, and above you, you can see the way his eyes darken, wheels in his head turning.

"you're right," he says, quietly. releasing your hands, he crawls off of you to kneel on the bed by your feet, rough hands pulling at his belt.

"r-right…about what?" now he wasn't lying on you, you felt a coldness travel through your body, making you crave his touch. sitting up to look at him, you swallow as he kicks off his pants.

he wasn't lying about being hard. his cock looked thick and heavy in his palm as he squeezed his shaft, letting out a sigh.

"haechan, what are you doing…?"

spitting in his hand, he starts tugging at his cock, slow and teasing strokes as he shifts his hips around in pleasure, settling his weight back on his heels as he hums.

you place your hands on his thighs, shifting towards him, but with a speed and agility you rarely saw he grabbed both your wrists in his free hand, holding on to them tightly so you couldn't shake free. "you don't get to touch," he gasps, another moan ripping from his throat as his fingers press into his slit.

"haechan," alarmed, you try to crawl over to him but his grip on your wrists holds you at a distance, pushing you back. the sounds he's making go straight to your core, high-pitched moans, drawn out and achy, gulping gasps of air between each one as if he was struggling to breathe. his hand speeding up, moving like a blur, swivelling his wrist and thumbing at a spot just below the blunt pink tip. precum dribbling out all over his hand as he starts to thrust his hips into the circle of his fist.

"please," you rub your thighs together, pain and pressure building up in your core. his eyes, half-lidded and sultry, slide over to you almost lazily.

"wait your turn, princess," he groans, mocking you with a whiny "ah…ah-" at the end.

you're so frustrated you could cry.

his whines and whimpers escalate in pitch, broken gasps and pants filling the air, and you can't wait for him to cum so it'll be your turn…

except suddenly he's letting go of his cock, a groan rumbling through his chest as it slaps up against his lower belly.

a beat.

"did you like the show?"

"you didn't cum," you mumble, dumbly.

"i didn't think you deserved to see that yet." he releases your wrists. "see, that was your punishment."

"for?"

"for rejecting me for over a month even though i knew you wanted it." effortlessly pulling you into his lap, he smiles as he guides a hand under your skirt, rubbing your inner thigh with his sticky fingers. "sometimes when you look at me…i just know you're dripping wet in your panties."

"i'm not-"

"should we check?" he pulls at the seat of your panties, swiping his fingers on your folds. your thighs clamp shut on his hands, sensitive, and he laughs. "thought so."

he traces light touches on your clit, alternating between rubbing circles and stroking gently. he brushes his fingers over your entrance and you crumble, grinding into his hand as you try to manoeuvre your hips closer to where his cock lies against his tummy.

"so cute," he murmurs, pushing a careful finger into you, smiling to himself when you let out a soft moan. stroking against your walls, he adds another, starting to stretch you out as you rock your hips into his. his nose nuzzles at your neck, and you discover that all those times he's spent analysing the juncture between your jaw and your shoulder have paid off, because he finds your sweet spot in record time, his puffy lips mumbling against your skin and making you shake all over.

"you're going to have to be a little quieter, baby," he says, gently. "don't want them hearing you outside." he adds another finger, humming delightedly at how you suck them in.

"you-" you gasp, "but you were so, fuck, loud just now…"

"i don't care if they hear me." he starts fucking his fingers into you, thrusting them in and out of your core with loud wet sounds, his thumb applying pressure to your clit that makes your thighs tremble. "i know i sound good. you should record me next time, baby."

your brain has gone foggy. this is the haechan that still pushed at the pull door to your lecture hall, the one you've been going to for almost half a year. this is the haechan who hid behind his hands when you would get mad at him, then would beg for you to keep going, i'm memorising this for later.

this was the haechan…who was currently moaning softly in your ear, a sound so saturated with lust that it takes your breath away, and makes you release all over his hand.

as it turns out, haechan isn't really into edging unless he wants to make a point.

he's far more interested in overstimulation, as he makes you cum 3 times on the guest room bed. and he cums twice himself from fucking you.

with intense concentration, he cleans up for you and tucks you into bed, worried eyes making sure you're okay. when he watches the way you walk, unsteadily, to turn off the light, he slides to his knees and freckles kisses all over your thighs and hips, murmuring apologies into your skin, torn between gloating and grovelling.

"jaemin's okay with us staying," he whispers into the dark. and then, with unfiltered dreamy happiness… "i'm so happy i'm going to wake up next to you tomorrow."

your heart melts and dissolves as you reach for him, nuzzling into his chest. it's because you're so close that you hear the rumble of his sigh through his chest. "haechan?"

"hm?"

"i don't want to confuse you…"

pause. and then, quietly, "you always say that before you confuse me."

you sit up, his arms falling to your waist.

"haechan…"

"you look like an angel," he looks at you through his lashes, doll-like features pretty in the moonlight. when he realises he's caught you off guard, he continues, his drowsy, honeyed voice low and soothing, hypnotic as he appeals to you. "go to sleep, angel. i'll fuck you awake in the morning, i promise…"

"don't try to seduce me, haechan. i want to talk about this."

"worth a shot," he mumbles. "look, i don't know if you think i'm joking when i tell you i want you," his eyes flicker to the sheets as he tries to outline his thoughts. "but i already promised since day 1 that i wasn't leading you on." he sighs when you still look unconvinced.

"tell me what you're thinking, angel." he reaches for your hand, and presses a small kiss on your palm, guiding your fingers to cup his face. "give me a hint."

"question 21," you remind him.

love and affection. understanding blooms on his face.

"what about it?"

"i'm scared," you confess.

"what are you scared of, angel?" he tilts his face to the side but his eyes never leave yours. "you want me, and i…and i…" he sits up a little so he can pull you down to him. you think you kissed him just now, but this one feels like the first time — his mouth moving gently on yours, suckling on your lip, his tongue gently slipping into your mouth, and the light sigh he lets out like he just tasted something sweet. he kisses you like he's just realised he has all the time in the world to, with no urgency, only the sweet indulgence of a boy who finally has what he wants right in his arms.

"don't be scared," he whispers into your mouth when you break apart. "i'm serious about you."

"serious about me or serious about fucking me?" you ask, timidly.

haechan looks up at you, the angel in his bed, and takes in the tension in your shoulders, the way you're holding your breath.

if haechan was bad at homework, bad at assignments and impressing his professors, bad at reading the room and keeping his voice under control, there were things he was good at from experience.

like how to tilt his face to showcase the pretty moles on his skin, how to pitch his voice like it was straight out of a filthy dream, and how to read people's body language to know what they wanted. how to read you.

"serious about whatever you're ready for," he says, gently. "affection, or love."

a moment passes. then another. then another.

"haechan?"

"yes?"

"were you serious about fucking me awake tomorrow morning?"

"haechan, this is really, really bad."

"i know." he exhales shakily, the sound amplified through your laptop speakers. "fuck, shit, i know."

leaning forward to look at your laptop screen, you swipe back to the open tab you have of the document for your project. "how did you delete everything? and why can't it be restored?"

"i don't-" a muffled choking sound. "i don't know."

"i don't even want to tell you to stop crying," you say bitterly. "cry harder. it won't fix this."

a strangled sound, barely audible over the music playing on his end.

you swipe back to your zoom call with haechan. ever since you started giving in to haechan's relentless begging, it's been a lot harder for both of you to focus on your assignment.

specifically, the number of times he's fingered you in the library or fucked you on his lap in his desk chair were now too many to count.

so you've resorted to meeting up over video-call, using your laptops to provide a greater sense of occasion and to make it clear that these were meetings to do work. so far, they've been working out fine, but today he joined the call with his camera turned off, and only a guilty, shaking, voice told you to check the google drive, and please don't be mad.

"so?" you don't bother to hide your anger, or to coddle him like you usually would. "are you going to fix this?"

"dunno…" he gasps, whimpering when you roll your eyes. "dunno…fuck…dunno how…"

you tilt your webcam so you can really look into it, hoping that it's making him feel worse. judging by the wail he lets out, it does.

"turn on your camera so i can see you," you snap. "and turn off the music. i want to hear you cry."

a muffled, guttural, sound.

"really?" he sniffles, a loud sob crackling like static out of your speakers. "you w-want to…t-to see me…c-cry?"

"don't play mind games with me, lee haechan," you warn. "i'm really fucking mad at you."

"y-yeah?" he gulps, and you can hear it.

"i'm so mad i could hit you right now." and you hear a sound of pain, a strangled cry ripping from his throat.

"i wannit," he groans. "want you to hit me."

"forgot you were a masochist," you grumble, sarcastically. "how are you still in the mood to make jokes like that when we're going to fail?"

he's panting, and a part of you starts to worry. is he hyperventilating? "i dunno, i'm sorry-" he gasps, voice raising in pitch.

"haechan?" the anger hasn't completely faded from your voice. you're met with a hiccup, cut off by a wracking sob. switching tact, you make your voice go gentle, babying him the way you usually do to get him to do anything right. "turn off the music and turn on the camera for me."

he's still breathing heavily as you hear the sounds of fumbling, his phone falling to the floor as it disconnects from his speaker. silence fills the call, a tension so thick in the air as he pants into his microphone, and you hear his hands skid across the keyboard.

you freeze when he turns on the camera.

the background is different from your usual work calls. you see the headboard of his bed, an array of pillows propped up behind him as he slouches against them. but unlike your usual late-night calls, the laptop isn't balanced on his knees so that you can only see his face.

its on the bed between his legs, giving you a full picture of his tear streaked face, the beautiful skin of his upper body, the jumping muscles in his thighs, and his thick weeping cock held in his veiny fist.

he moans when he sees himself on camera, resuming his movements and watching himself carefully through tear-soaked eyelashes.

"what the fuck?" you whisper, and he lets out a whiny sob, hand moving faster over his length.

"what the hell is wrong with you?" your voice grows stronger as you watch his other hand close around his neck, choking back his sounds. "what the fuck?" his hand is dragging up his neck, he's slipping his fingers into his mouth and sucking on them, drool dripping down his wrist. "lee haechan!" you press your thighs together, trying not to let the scene get to you, but it was no use.

"love it when you-" he gasps, hips bucking into his hand. "get mad at me. i told you…ah, ah…you're so fucking hot when you're mad." he wipes the drool off his chin messily, and reaches down to stroke himself with both hands.

"you're unbelievable," you snap, feeling your own hands drift to your thighs.

"and i…and i kept this thought to myself…" he moans, hand ghosting over his nipple as he whimpers. "but i always thought you looked like a camgirl when we call like this."

"yeah?" fuck it. you give in, crossing over to your bed. feigning indifference, you place the laptop on your sheets in front of you as you settle down and shrug off your sweatpants, grateful you had chosen to wear the white lace panties he liked.

"mmhm," he hasn't noticed you yet, his head thrown back and eyes closed. "i came when you tilted the camera down…wanted see your tits so bad…"

"if i was a camgirl, would you watch?" you slip your hand into your panties and let out a sigh, watching his cock twitch in his palm. missing the weight of it in your hand, on your thigh, and in you.

"fuck yeah."

"then why aren't you watching, baby?"

he moves so fast it's almost comical — eyes shooting open, he straightens to look at his laptop screen. the moment he sees you with your hand between your legs, panties so wet they were transparent, he cums, hard, thick globs of white cum oozing out of his tip as his legs tremble and a fresh wave of tears roll down his cheeks, his mouth falling open as he lets out a series of moans reminiscent of the filthiest hentai porn.

"was that your second time, hm?" you moan, the sight of him making you rub against your clit even faster, your hips rocking into your hand.

"third," he squeezes his cock again, pain darting across his face as he releases it, letting it soften against his thigh. "y/n… take them off please…"

"take what off?" you push a finger into you, sliding your other hand up your top to graze your nipples under your camisole. he whimpers at the sight.

"everything…" his eyes cloudy and desperate, his cheeks flushed so read you'd be worried he was running a fever. "wanna see you…"

you're focused completely on your own pleasure, your heart soaring to see him so completely fucked out before you.

"haechan…" you try to keep your voice under control, try to hide that you were close. you just wanted to see how far he'd go. "if you're my baby boy, then what should you call me?" you pinch your nipples, letting out a gasp. the sheets feel silky against your skin as your legs kick in pleasure, your hand still working in between your legs.

haechan's breathing picks up. when you look down at your screen, he's touching himself again, squeezing the base of his cock. his mouth falls open as you see his lashes flutter, rolling back into his head as he mouths the words.

whimpering, his lip wobbles as he looks at you on the screen.

"mommy," he moans, again and again, until you both climax, and you're no longer sure if he's saying it for you or himself.

haechan takes your words to heart. like, he really takes your words to heart.

when you tell him off-handedly that leather jackets look good on him, he buys 3 of the same and never wears any other jacket again. when you painstakingly teach him how to add a footnote to his document, he scrawls the steps down on a post-it and nudges you for validation each time he finishes a page, blinking at you like a puppy needing a treat. which is why he treats his rom-com watching sessions with you very seriously.

"so it's bad that he didn't ask her out properly?"

"yes," you nod, enthusiastically. "really bad. he shouldn't assume that she's interested and just act like he has a place in her life now — he has to earn it."

"right, yeah, fuck him," he growls, scrawling on his notebook.

you peek over at what he's doing — he's added 'not officially asking her out' on the 'no' list.

"are you sure the double negative won't confuse you?"

"the what?"

"nevermind."

reaching for the popcorn, you peer at the screen. "oh, and that's a good thing."

"where?" his head shoots up, and he squints at the screen. "what?"

"see, he asked 'can i kiss you'?' playfully, you glare at him. "you rarely ask for anything."

"that's not true…" he grumbles. "i asked you if i was making you uncomfortable…"

"yeah, that was one time…"

"i asked if i could eat you out last wednesday…"

"that wasn't asking that was sweet-talking."

"well can we fuck now?" he blurts out. running a hand through his hair, he tosses his notebook to the side.

a pause.

"well?" he raises his eyebrows.

"uh, okay…"

"was that asking or sweet-talking? oh-" and for some reason, he blushes when he registers your response. "you said yes."

fuck. "yeah, i guess." you place the popcorn down on the bedside table, feeling shy.

"well, as you wish, princess," he whispers conspiratorially, crawling over to you to pull you in for a kiss.

"see," you mumble against his lips. "you didn't ask…"

"oh, fuck, yeah sorry." breaking away from you, he wipes his lips on the back of his hand. "re-do, re-do. um…" he lowers his head.

"okay you don't have to re-do it i was just pointing it out…"

"can i kiss you, angel?"

you freeze.

he really was too pretty for his own good, his hair falling over his eyes, the ethereal flush to his cheeks.

"yes, please," you mumble, and he surges towards you, pressing his tongue into yours and running his electric touch down your spine.

"can i take your clothes off, angel?"

you murmur your consent as he smiles wide, helping you out of your clothes but lightly slapping your hands away when you reach to do your bra.

"this is my favourite part," he sighs, as he unhooks the clasps from behind your back, hooking a careless finger around a strap and pulling the lacy piece off of you, wetting his lips when he sees your breasts.

"can i suck on your boobs?"

"god, haechan-" he giggles as he takes one in his mouth, teeth lightly grazing on it from his smile. his hand comes up to the other one and he ghosts his touch over it, before deciding better and squeezing it roughly in his palm.

kissing down your stomach, he reaches the band of your panties with a smile.

"are you going to ask if you can take them off, haechan."

"i was gonna ask if i could eat you out," he murmurs against your skin, kitten licking your inner thighs and sending chills up your spine.

swallowing hard, you nod. "yes."

nosing at your clothed clit, he sucks the seat of your panties into his mouth, lips puckered in an adorable way if he wasn't literally trying to suck it off your skin.

"haechan…you can take them off," you say, weakly, feeling heat pool in your navel.

"mmhm…" he says, both hands winding around your thighs to grip onto the fabric of your panties. "or i could do this." with one harsh movement he's ripping them off of you, holding the pieces of cloth in his hands gleefully as he plunges forward and sucks harshly on your folds.

"haechan," you half-moan, half shout. "why did you do that…"

"i'm sorry, baby," he flattens his tongue and laps at you, flicking his tongue against your clit. "i'll buy you new sets, i'll buy you as many sets as you want…" stiffening his tongue, his prods at your entrance and tries to reach as far into you as he can, licking at your walls, his nose bumping into your clit as he tilts his head this way and that.

the pleasure increases tenfold when he starts moaning, and you finally come to your senses enough to see how he's humping the bed, his hips moving in time with the way he was licking at you. "taste so sweet," he moans. "cum on my face, angel. fuck…" he whines obscenely, hips moving faster against the sheets as he shoves two fingers into you, making your back arch. "can you cum for me?"

you let your orgasm crash into you, the pleasure burning through you and making you go lightheaded. haechan is whimpering and moaning, and you realise you have your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him away from your core and making his neck crane up. you almost let go before you remember that he likes it, so you pull a little harder and watch the way his hips stutter against the bed, achy moans filling the air as he cums.

"sorry," he gasps, "fuck, sorry…" he crumples into your arms. "it felt so good…i couldn't help myself."

"it's okay…" you still when you feel something prod at your entrance. "haechan-" but you're cut off by a loud moan, as haechan pushes his softening cock into you. "haechan, are you sure-"

"hurts," he moans. "but it'll feel better soon, it'll feel…fuck fuck fuck," his hips moving in an uneven rhythm, as if he can't decide whether to stop or go harder. "just a bit more…" he mumbles to himself.

deciding to help him, you smooth your hands down his chest and wrap your legs around him. he loves it when you cling to him during sex, he's told you openly, and he bites back another sigh as the pain seems to dissipate into raw pleasure again.

"just a bit more, baby," you murmur in his ear. he hiccups, nodding as he starts to pound into you in earnest, slapping sounds echoing in the room as his cock abuses the one spot inside you that makes you see stars. stretched out and filled by him, you rock your hips into his too, feeling his thick cock bulge inside you.

"can i cum in you, please?" he asks, softly, painfully. from where he lies on top of you, his brow glistening with sweat and his eyes watery from the overstimulation, you could never say no to him. he cums when you do, the feeling of your walls clenching around him being too much to bear, and he slumps in your arms, hips still pulsing against yours until you physically push him and he slips out of you.

haechan takes your words to heart. when you tell him to ask for permission, he does it throughout aftercare — asking for permission to run you a bath, to make you tea, to pull you closer in bed. and as you let his eyes meet yours, his gaze seeping into your pupils and making your mind go hazy, you wonder if he takes your words so seriously that he'll never consider moving from the affection you asked for, to the love you were too scared to want.

"did you forget something at my place?"

"no." a pause. "if i did, it would be too late because i'm almost home."

"then why are you calling?"

"because i'm cold, and my shoes are wet, and it's all your fault." he huffs petulantly, his words muffled by a pout you can imagine vividly in your mind's eye. "because you wouldn't let me stay the night."

"haechan," you started. "i already told you i have really bad insomnia…" he grumbles to himself and you think you can hear him mocking your tone. "i really need to sleep for tomorrow because i have that test-"

"oh yeah?" he bites back, annoyance clear in his tone. "and how's your sleeping going huh? are you talking to me in your sleep now?"

you make an incredulous sound. "if anything you should be kinder to me since i evidently can't sleep right now-"

"you know i could have just fucked you right?"

what the fuck. the sound of footsteps on gravel crunch on even louder, anger evident in the way he's practically stomping his way back to his apartment.

"haechan…what?"

"sex and other forms of physical intimacy at bedtime have been shown to increase drowsiness, reduce the time it takes to fall asleep, and improve overall sleep quality," he rattles off. when you don't respond, the anger seeps back into his tone. "i'm not making this up! that's a direct quote from the chief of pul…shit, pulmo…pulmonology at Kaiser Permanente in Honolulu."

"what's pulmonology?"

"how the fuck should i know?" another frustrated crunch. "but she's the chief of it, so she should know what she's saying."

your head is still reeling. stall, he gets distracted easily. "w-when did you look this up?"

"two weeks ago, when you told me you had trouble sleeping." crunch. "i had a…a….hypothetical…?"

"hypothesis?"

"don't interrupt me," he snaps. "i just remembered that people get sleepy after sex, and i knew there had to be a scientific reason. i'm not stupid you know."

"i know…" you say, weakly.

"but you wouldn't let me stay the night, for some reason you don't want to fuck me anymore, so now you have to suffer the consequences." the sound of a key fumbling in the door.

"haechan…"

his voice drops an octave, a harsh rasp you've only heard when it was late at night or early in the morning. "i could have taken such good care of you, angel. i would've eaten you out…stretched you out on my fingers…"

his next words are almost condescending. "would've fucked you until you passed out, or at least fucked you dumb."

confusion, and something far stronger and deeper, tug at your stomach.

"haechan?" your voice is a pale whisper.

he hums.

"i'm sorry. come back." you cringe at sound of your voice, small and achy, but you can't help yourself.

there's silence on the other end.

"you…want me to go back?"

"please."

and the line goes dead.

it's a solid 15 minute walk from haechan's to your apartment, but it only takes 7 minutes after he hangs up for him to slam against your door, pounding on it with an urgency far too loud for 12.30am.

when you open the door he crumples to the floor at your feet. he's drenched, completely, gasping and panting so hard you can see his chest move in and out with each shuddering breath. his mouth moving soundlessly, he crawls towards you, dragging himself up with a hand scrabbling at the wall, and your arms circle his waist immediately to steady him.

his eyes are squinted shut in pain at what you assume is a stitch in his side, but he's still mouthing the same set of words over and over again soundlessly, too out of breath to vocalise them.

"haechan, it's okay-" you splutter, helping him out of his rain-soaked sweater, his white shirt stuck to his skin underneath. "breathe. fuck, i told you to come back but i didn't tell you to sprint, did you fall? why would you-"

"- don'tchangeyourmind," he rasps, gasping and hiccuping between breaths, the words finally ringing out in the still air of your apartment. "don't change your mind, don't change your mind…don't-" he coughs, his breaths still feeling more like punches than drawing air.

"please don't change your mind," he begs.

his eyes are stealing the words from the cavity of your chest, drinking you in until you can't think of anything to say.

whimpering at your lack of response, he places his whole body weight on you, forehead gently nudging yours. "you told me to come back," he whispers. "i didn't want to give you any time to regret it. just now…when you made me leave…" his voice drops low.

he was supposed to be the boy who just wanted to fuck you. but why did it sound like he was talking about something else entirely?

"i don't regret it, haechan," you say, softly. "and i could never…" you swallow. "i could never change my mind about you."

he blinks, dazed. "i…" he takes a shuddering breath, and you tense up in fear. did he think you were alluding to something more?

"haechan, i just meant-"

"fuck, i don't understand anything you're saying," he blurts out. "i just know i want you, now." he drops his arms to your waist. "don't make me beg…i mean, fuck, if you told me to i would, but i just…"

"you don't have to use your words," murmuring, you run your hands up and down his arms, and he shivers at your touch, closing his eyes.

"but you need to hear them," he insists. "words of affirmation…remember?" your heart thunders in your chest.

"haechan…"

"i want to feel like i have you." his lips ghost over yours. "please?"

"please," you repeat back at him, and he's all over you.

he carries you to your room, placing you gently on the bed. things go by in a blur, his gentle voice guiding you through the motions, skin against skin and his lips kissing you everywhere. before you know it, you're straddling his thigh as he drags your hips, grinding you down onto him as his mouth licks at your neck.

"louder, angel," he pants, flexing the muscles in his thigh and making you whimper as you feel yourself coming close. this is the most silent he's been with you ever, his ears attuned to every catch of your breath, every choked sound you let out, that he falls silent to drink it all in.

"need more," you beg. "need you, please…"

"you have me." his eyes soften, the sight of you falling apart on just his thighs giving him an aching feeling in his chest. this was different from the girls who would fall over themselves to talk to him, who used their own tricks to meet his. this was you, giving all your control to him. "you're doing so good for me."

sniffling, you grind harder against him, chasing your climax. "i am?"

he allows himself a small groan. he wanted to swallow you whole. "come here," he says, tenderness straining at his voice.

he stretches you out before he slips into you, waits until you give him the go ahead. he makes you wrap your arms around him, feet planted on the bed as your body intertwines with his, as he fucks up into you. he wants to feel you on him until he can finally decipher every look that flits through your eyes, until he can read your thoughts and drown in them. he presses a hand to your navel, and feels himself moving inside you, angling his hips until he knows he's ramming his tip against your sweet spot, feels your breath catch as if it were his own, your tears mixing with his sweat.

he bites down on your shoulder when he cums with you. he doesn't know if it's to savour the sound of you falling apart because of him, or if it's to stop himself from admitting he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

when you wake up, he's in your bed. scrawling on a piece of paper.

he doesn't notice you're awake, so you move closer to him on the pretence that you're still sleeping, watching through heavy eyelids the way he's muttering to himself, biting on his lip harshly. the ache between your legs gives you a sense of bliss, and the sight before you gives you an overwhelming sense of peace in your heart.

feeling your body shift, he absentmindedly reaches out to stroke your hair. it's that specific action that gives you the courage to sit up, your heart full.

"good morning, haechan."

"what's another word for fuck?" he's not looking at you, mindlessly chewing on his fingernails as his eyes dart across his piece of paper.

"um…the verb or the expletive?"

"the action."

"why do you need another word for 'fuck'?" placing a hand on his shoulder, you lower your head to try and catch his attention. "haechan? what are you doing?"

"i need another word for fuck because renjun told me not to use the word 'fuck'," he mumbles, crossing things out on his scrap of paper.

"why?" you laugh, watching as his lips begin to pout slightly at how things were not turning out the way he planned at all.

unable to stop himself, he lets out a whine. "because it's unromantic-" clenching his fists, he yelps as the speech he has scrawled out gets crumpled up. "fuck!"

"haechan, it's okay," you're trying hard to keep a straight face, wanting to match his sincerity and tone. "is that a letter? for me?"

"it's my script," he snaps. "it's my planned confession." groaning, he tries to straighten it out so he can read the words on it. "you said…you said it was a bad thing not to confess, which means it's a good thing to confess…"

you feel like you're about to cry. "explain in your own words," you place a hand on his wrist.

"i- you-" he takes a deep breath, letting the crumpled piece of paper fall off the bed and onto the floor. "you deserve someone who can keep up with you," he starts, quietly. "you deserve someone who will understand your jokes on first listen, who can hold long conversations with you without getting distracted by how hot you are when you're talking about something smart. i can't be that person."

the words sting at your heart. is that really how haechan felt when he was around you?

"but also-" his voice grows stronger, a hint of defiance in his tone. "i know for a fact that i make you laugh harder than anyone you know, even if you're laughing at me and not with me. i also know i can fuck you better than anyone you've ever been with, like, look-"

he roughly pulls you towards him, lips finding yours messily. unfazed by the way your body tenses in surprise, he slips his tongue in your mouth just as he pulls you to grind onto his lap, causing you to gasp into his mouth. it doesn't take long for the shock to wear off, your body so attuned to him that a buzz runs through your veins — and you're just about to press yourself against him, starting to reciprocate his sloppy kisses, when he pulls away with a wet sound.

panting, he swipes his thumb affectionately at the corner of your lips. "see?"

you can't tell if you're frustrated that it ended so soon, or confused at what just happened. "see what?"

"that was what, 15 seconds?" both your breaths come quick and fast, the tension in the room so palpable you could feel it press insistently against your skin. "and look at you now." a smile tugs at his lips, and he raises his eyebrows cockily. "i'm the only one who can do that to you."

"yes, you are." you affirm.

"yeah, because, i know how to touch you-"

"because i'm in love with you," you interrupt, softly.

and haechan literally stops breathing.

you can see the way his chest stops moving entirely — his mouth hanging open, doe eyes wide. it's almost comical, the way his body freezes up.

"i can't tell if you're doing that on purpose."

still nothing.

"did you really stop breathing?"

"you love me?"

he comes back to life spluttering, hands pointing to you, than himself, trying to make sure he hadn't heard wrong.

"i love you," you repeat, gently. placing your palms on his chest, you feel his beating heart under your fingertips.

"you're not scared anymore?" he places his hands on your face in wonder, brushing a thumb on your cheekbone. you let yourself fall into his eyes, soft in the morning light. "you make it the easiest thing in the world," you whisper. the two of you bask in the moment, him breathing in your air, leaning closer and closer to you. your lips brush.

"fuck."

you whine as he pulls away, a horrified look on his face.

"y/n, i think i brainwashed you into loving me," he whispers, voice laced with genuine fear.

sighing, you gently bump your forehead with his. "if you make this about your dick..."

"no," he lets out a strangled sound. "that day, when we were calling and i was asking you questions..."

"haechan i swear to god-"

"those were 36 questions to make you fall in love," he whispers, pained. "y/n...i think i manipulated you. fuck i knew science was real, but i didn't know it was that useful-"

"after we make out, i'm going to have to explain the difference between pseudo-science and science to you", you grumble, as you push him back onto the bed and close the distance between you.

he whispers it into your hair, your face buried in his bare chest one night, his arms wrapped securely around you.

"i don't want to go back tonight."

"then don't." you hold him a little tighter, feeling him shift under your touch. "stay."

"no, as in, i don't want to go back, ever."

"haechan."

he hums, hands starting to stroke at your sides, rubbing his thumb against the swell of your chest.

"is this your way of asking to move in with me?"

"i dunno…"

"you do know that it's a big thing in a relationship right? and you're going to have to actually move out of your apartment, and figure out the rent on mine, and…"

"i don't care about that," he mumbles, a hint of stubborness in his tone. breathing in your hair, his voice drops even lower. "all i know is, i want to wake up tomorrow right here, with you. and the day after tomorrow. and the day after."

"yeah?"

his arms fall away from you as you sit up, brushing your hair out of your face to look at him in the lamplight. propped up against the headboard, his eyes wide and gaze so tender it steals your breath away like a blow to your ribcage. you can see the hesitance written all over him, the slight tension in his shoulder-blades, his fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the sheets.

"please say yes," he whispers, more to himself than to you.

"haechan…" you take his hands in yours, and kiss his fingertips gently. "please move in with me."

exhaling in exaggerated relief, he pulls you onto him and kisses you deeply. mouth moving against yours, his eyelashes fluttering as he focuses on your tongue moving against his, his teeth grazing your lips. trying to convey all the love he had for you in the way he gently held the back of your neck, his other pressing down on the small of your back until your body curves into his.

"if you move in with me," you smile, breathlessly, when he finally lets you go. "you can finally fuck me awake, like you promised."

a pause.

"is that all i am to you?" sadly, he runs a hand absentmindedly down his beautiful body, landing on his thighs. his eyes are downcast when he mumbles out, "just a hot body for you to fuck?"

panicking, you lean into him quickly, cupping his face in your hands as you settle down on his lap. "baby, you know that's not true. you're the most genuine, kind, loving….." you trail off, eyes narrowing when you realise he's biting his lip to keep from laughing. "manipulative, conniving…"

his eyes crinkle adorably as he wraps you in his arms, rubbing the tip of his nose on yours. "you love me soooo much," he whispers, almost conspiratorially.

yes.

pause. "also, what does conniving mean?"

yes. you did.

taglist: @puduwhore @haechanalpha @anniebyanto @sunnynaa @newdeobi @strwberrydinosaur @gyulfriend @91qowngus, @sundhaelatte, @jaemboi64, @sassy-author, @matchahyuck, @prdshobi @beomibeom

-> go to part 2 here!

#haechan smut #haechan fluff #haechan angst #nct smut #nct fluff #donghyuck smut #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck angst #haechan x reader #haechan scenario #haechan au #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut

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celestie0 · 2 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 13.5k (...i'm gonna go take a nap lol)

a/n. hello hellooo my dear kickoff readers, hope you're having a nice day so far! this is the longest chapter yet, so i hope you enjoy <3 it's also got one of my favorite tropes everrr hehehehe you could probs guess what it is halfway through. see you at the bottom and happy reading! sorry if there are typos i didn't proofread this one as much as the others haha

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

You don’t cry much these days, but when you do, it’s usually out of nowhere.

Like now, as you stand in the school’s photo lab, developing the shots that you took for UTokyo’s game against Osaka last week, and you have to swipe at the tears on your cheek threatening to fall all over the captured images of grass, benches, nets, banners, stands, and him.

One of the photographs catches your eye, and you pick it up from the table. It’s a candid moment you took of Gojo on the field right before you confessed to him. You had spotted him first while the team was doing their warm-up, and you thought he looked nice from the way he had that concentrated look on his face that you’ve learned to love. But right before you clicked the shutter, he had turned away, chasing after the ball, and so all you could capture was his back facing you as he looked off ahead into the distance. You wondered if that was how it’s always been this whole time–with you looking at him while he’s looking off at something else. It was a depressing thought, but your mind had a tendency for sadness since that day.

The sound of the photo lab door opening jolts you back to reality, and you quickly straighten your posture and wipe your cheek with your sleeve, trying to sniffle as discreetly as possible, then set the picture down. Your fellow film major greets you quietly, asking if you’re still using the developer liquid, to which you say no, then hand it over to them. You stuff your photographs into a folder and head out the door.

You make it across campus to the Film & Media Studies building, then up to the third floor where your professor's office is. His door was ajar, but you still knocked before entering.

He looks up from the photographs he was grading. “Oh, y/n, hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, yourself?” you ask, taking a seat on the chair that was fixed to face his desk. You pull your tote bag into your lap.

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

You slide the folder to him over the scraped, worn burgundy wood of his desk. “I still had to turn in my photos for the assignment due last week. I appreciate the extension.”

“Ah, right,” he says, taking the folder from you. “I’ll get around to grading them. I’m curious, what did you end up choosing for your subject matter?” He tucks the folder underneath the pile that was to his side.

“I took photos of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni on Thursday last week,” you tell him.

He frowns at you. “Film cameras don’t have that level of zoom, though. I do hope you followed the rubric guidelines for central object to frame ratio, otherwise I’ll have to take off points.”

“Oh– I did. I took the photos from the sidelines,” you tell him, panicking already.

His eyes widened. “From the sidelines? On the field?”

You nod at him, fidgeting with your bag in your lap.

“Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student take photos like that before. That’s pretty challenging to pull off, though,” he says, sitting up straighter, “...you mind if I take a look at them right now?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He pulls your folder out from the bottom of the pile, then gently slips the photos out of them, rearranging them all across his desk. He leans down closer to study some of them, tilting his head curiously at others, furrowing his brow in concentration to a select few. “These are incredible.”

You take in a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”

He nods at you with acknowledgement, and you watch him as he studies the images quietly for another minute, then looks up at you. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks when he notices you’re still seated.

“Ah…yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?” He taps his pen on the desk.

“I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the film graduate program.”

He nods, like he was expecting the question. “Yeah, of course. Just send me your resume and portfolio.” He taps eagerly on one of your images. “Please send me digitals for these, too.”

You let out a relieved exhale. “Yes, I will. Thank you so much, professor, I really appreciate it.”

You left the building feeling extremely relieved about your professor agreeing to write your recommendation, but also feeling sad because you couldn’t tell Gojo about it, since this was the full-circle moment for the little arrangement the two of you had. There’s a thought that considers texting him, and you take out your phone then go to his name, but your thumbs just can’t bring yourself to send him a message.

The days of the week go by in a blur, and between every single little moment in life, your mind always wanders to him. It’s hard to get over someone when you’re surrounded by them. Like late at night while you’re editing the digitals of the game last week to send to your professor, and you find yourself staring at the pictures you’ve taken of him. It’s hard to get over him when the school worships the soccer team and you’re forced to see promotional banners and posters all over campus with his stupidly beautiful face in them. You didn’t have the heart to block him on Instagram, because you remember that time he teased you about how you didn’t follow him back, and you wonder if it would make him sad if you blocked him, so you just resorted to deleting the app instead. And although you were the one that asked for space from him, you were growing increasingly annoyed at how good he seemed to be at keeping it.

The library wasn’t even much of a safe space either, since you overheard a group of girls the other day at a table arguing about which of the players on the team is the hottest, and so you find yourself doing your homework on a lovely Wednesday morning at your apartment instead.

You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling, and then jump when you hear your phone ring, quickly turning it over to read the caller ID. Nobara. You accept the call, placing her on speaker, then set your phone back down on your desk.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

“Hey, nothing much. Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out,” she says.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m working on homework right now. It’s due in a couple of hours,” you sigh.

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

“My stats 130 elective,” you say. “I’m a film major, why do I need to know statistics?” You tap your pen to your chin. “Actually, it might be valid.”

“Is that the class with the creepy professor?” she asks. “The one that got caught with a PornHub tab open while he was presenting his lecture slides.”

“Yeah.”

“I took his class last semester! I still have all my homework for it,” she exclaims on the other end, “do you want me to send it over?”

“Yes, omg, I could kiss you right now,” you groan, resting your head on your arm sprawled across your desk in exhaustion.

“So definite no to hang out?”

“Sorry, I’ll reach out later though,” you sigh, “also, my car is still in repair…apparently something came up with the engine. So we can’t go far unless we invite Mina.”

“That’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to come if we invite her just to chauffeur,” she says sarcastically. “By the way, how’d the pictures come along? For the newsletter?”

You lift your head up off of the desk in a panic. Shit. You were so focused on turning in your digitals of the game to your professor that you totally forgot you were supposed to send them to Utahime as well. “Oh my god, I forgot. When do they finalize the release again?”

“Isn’t it today at noon? I sent over film club’s photos this morning,” she says.

You glance at the time. 11:56am.

“Nobara, I’ve gotta go. I need to call Utahime, sorry,” you say. She acknowledges you, telling you to hurry, and then you hang up.

You call Utahime and scribble down on a sticky note to paste on your wall as a reminder to buy her a loving gift basket one of these days because of course she extends the release deadline just for you. You finish touching up the digitals and then send them to her via email, and after you finish your statistics homework, she calls you again to meet up somewhere nearby.

“Thanks so much for coming here,” Utahime says as she sits across from you at one of the local cafes you frequent. “Also, this chai latte is so good, I’m honestly surprised.”

You nod at her. “This place has great drinks.” You slide a folder across the table to her and she sets her drink down to accept it.

“Sorry if it was a hassle, but I just had to ask for physicals of these photos,” she sighs as she pulls them out. “They’re amazing, seriously, I gasped when I saw them. I’m used to sifting through a lot of professional sports photos for the newsletter, for all of the teams on campus, but I’ve never seen photos as charming as these. It could be the film photography aspect, since most of the ones I see are digital, but I’m seriously shocked you could capture shots like this at a rowdy men’s soccer match.”

You’re shaking your head at her. “Please don’t compliment me so much, I’ll cry. And it’s no issue, I had a spare set of physicals from when I developed them. You can keep them.”

She smiles at you. “Okay, well then, I think it goes without saying that I’ll definitely be including them for the sports recap this week. I’ll send you the money soon, too.”

You clap your hands together and interlock your fingers. “I’m. So. Grateful. For. You.”

She laughs across from you and takes another sip of her latte before sitting back slightly, glancing at the photos spread across the table. “Hm…how busy are you for the rest of the semester?”

You tilt your head at her and bring your coffee to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Not terribly busy, I quit my job last month so I’m just taking my assignments as they come and go.”

Utahime nods at you, a thoughtful expression on her face, and she smooths down the fabric of her shirt. “Okay, well, I got an email from the school this morning that one of the newsletter photographers for the men’s soccer team is moving to a different city, so they’re looking to fill in the position as soon as possible and they asked if I knew anyone,” she mentions, resting her elbow on the table and then placing her hand on her cheek. “They usually only hire professionals, but if I put a word in for you, they’d probably offer it to you.”

Your eyes widen at her from across the table, heart beating a bit faster in your chest.

“They pay really well for a part-time job. It’s essentially full-time pay for part-time hours,” she continues, “but it’s probably because you’ll have to travel with the team to their away games, including unofficial matches and conferences. If you’re not that busy for the next two months, then I think it’d be a good opportunity for you to build experience.”

You purse your lips together, considering her words. Although it’s a bit different from your long-term career plans, it was still a great way to get experience before graduate school. And besides, you needed the money, considering you quit your job last month and your savings were starting to run thin–never mind the fact that your car repair bill went from a few thousand yen to somewhere in the tens-of-thousands. And you would prefer to still be able to afford rent. Oh, and eat. Possibly still pay for Netflix.

But then there was the fact that having that kind of job meant that you would be spending a lot of time with the soccer team, and therefore increases the chances of running into Gojo. And you’re supposed to be staying away from him to get over your feelings.

“It sounds like an amazing opportunity, really,” you start, “...but I can’t.”

Utahime frowns at you and sits up straight. “Really? I thought you’d be excited. Why not?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“y/n…” Utahime starts, “I don’t really know what’s going on in your head right now, but isn’t this your dream? For your work to reach people? I know it’s only a stepping stone, believe me I know very well the path to becoming any sort of artist is an uphill battle of hell, but I’ve known you for a while now. And I know how much your dreams mean to you, and how hard you’re willing to work for them.”

Your heart swells in our chest at Utahime’s words. She was right, and you were starting to get really sick of letting your fears hold you back from what you really wanted in life. “...you’re right, I’m sorry. I’d love to be considered for the position, if you could recommend me.”

She smiles and nods at you. “Will do.”

–

The email for the job offer comes surprisingly fast, and you quickly read through it before accepting. It wasn’t a horrible time commitment, given you’d only have to take pictures during active play during matches, give or take a couple hours before, and the photographers rotate between who takes up each of the conferences so the work was split up. You were able to meet a few of the newsletter photographers & journalists during the game last week, so you already knew some of them. The offer letter came attached with a full calendar of the soccer team’s practice schedule, official match schedule, unofficial match schedule, conference schedule, and other publicity schedule, and you’re shocked at how busy all the players must be. The fact that they still have time to be students–and for most of them, active participants in fraternities–was honestly beyond you.

It seemed like they only had four more official matches left, two being away matches, along with a couple of unofficial matches that they may or may not participate in depending on how the season goes for them.

Their next game was on Friday against Kyoto university, and you were scheduled to shoot for their sports conference the day following as well. So you find yourself on a train embarked for the countryside, and you peer out of the window with a nervous feeling in your stomach. The sparkling skyscrapers and bustling crowds of Tokyo gradually started to give way into sights of expansive lush greenery, picturesque and charming towns, and winding rivers surrounded by trees. The closer you got to Kyoto, the sky became more gray until a steady drizzle began to fall against the train window. When you reached the final station, the rain had dissipated, and the taxi ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes. The journey felt exhausting, and you were so incredibly ready to pass out in a comfy bed.

You stood underneath a small sidewalk roof near the vending machines lining the outside of the hotel, trying to keep your bag and suitcase with all your equipment in it dry from the remnant soft mist of rain still lingering in the air.

“Hey, Utahime, sorry to bother you so late,” you say, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, “but is it the Hilton on 3rd street? Or on Main? Because if it’s the one on Main, then I may have messed up-”

You stop speaking when you hear a masculine voice down the road towards the left, echoing off of the lined up small shops along the sidewalk, and your heart could have recognized the sound anywhere. You’re swift to turn and face that direction, almost dropping your phone in the process, and you see him– the object of all your suffering lately.

Gojo stood there, wide-eyed and stopped completely in his tracks as the recognition of you under the dim street lighting flashes across his face. He’s in pajamas– a red long-sleeve cotton shirt that looks so stupidly soft and comfortable it almost makes you emotional, with some matching checkered red pants. It was the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen him in. His hair appears damp, slightly tousled, from what you could assume was an effort to dry it off fast. And he had crocs on. In sports mode. You make a mental note to ask him about his charms and if he’s willing to trade any of them with you. But maybe some other day. When it doesn’t hurt to think about him.

“y/n?” he calls your name out, astonished. He’s looking at you like he’s just seen a ghost but in the best way possible.

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat just from the mere sight of him, and when you hear Utahime’s voice on the line you’re shaken out of your trance. “Oh, sorry, I’m still here. I…I think I just had my question answered. Thank you, have a good night.” You pull your phone down, gaze lingering on your screen for way too long because you can’t brave yourself to look over at the man to your left, and you end the call.

There’s the sound of remnant puddles of water splashing as he takes a few steps closer to you, and you can see his reflection in the water of the one in front of you. The expression on his face matches the one that was there when you last saw him outside of the UTokyo stadium at the west side exit. It’s an expression you could still see every time you close your eyes.

Finally turning to face him, you purse your lips together. “Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, voice laced with confusion and you see him take in your appearance with eager flicks of his gaze all around, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him right now.

“Satoru!” another familiar voice calls out. “Did you get the orange-flavored ones too? Choso’s a fucking idiot and got the grape ones instead. I hate those. They taste like medicine. And ass. Not that I would know what–” You see Geto emerge from the darkness to Gojo’s side, and now he’s looking at you with a surprised look too. “Oh, it’s y/n. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you two,” you chirp, trying to act as if an entire world of awkwardness wasn’t being exchanged between you and Gojo right now, for the sake of hoping that Geto wasn’t a very good judge of energy. “I’m here to take pictures of the soccer team.”

Your eyes flicker to Gojo, who is still looking at you like he’s never seen a person before.

“Oh, is it for another one of your assignments?” Geto asks.

“No, it’s not. It’s for the newsletter,” you explain to him, “I guess it’s my job now.”

There are a few more distant footsteps that follow behind the two of them, with the crinkling noises of plastic bags hitting against thighs echoing through the streets, and eventually they catch up. You see Nanami and the UTokyo team’s goalie, you believe his name is Choso, arrive at this little gathering that was taking place outside of the hotel.

“That’s awesome!” Geto exclaims. “I’m sure the newsletter will lead to a lot of exposure.”

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks.

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

He then fills Choso in on the conversation, “Oh, my bad.”

“Don’t worry, y/n, I read the newsletter,” Geto says, “I read it like the morning paper.”

“It only comes out once a week, but nice try,” you respond, giving him a weary look.

Nanami crosses his arms. “I actually do happen to read it,” he says, “although I refrain from the soccer section. Feels rather egotistic to read it. I find the campus politics section to be enjoyable, though.”

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

“Satoru reads the soccer section,” Geto says, slinging an arm around him, “‘cause he’s full of himself.”

For a moment, Gojo remains silent, while his teammates, who had been observing him with amused expressions, gradually shift to awkward blinking, like they were expecting him to complain, or say something sarcastic, or joke around by now.

“I do read it,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I saw the release from yesterday. Your pictures were stunning.”

You’re flustered from the way he’s looking at you. “Thanks.”

Choso opens the plastic bag he was holding, peering down into it. “Shit. Ice cream’s melting, guys.”

“Yeah, we should probably head back to the rooms,” Geto looks at you, “do you want any snacks?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. I was just about to go check-in,” you say to them.

The boys politely say bye to you, and Gojo mentions something about staying back for a bit and hands Nanami the plastic bag he was carrying before they head back into the hotel. And then the two of you are alone under this roof, drops of water falling from it in between the two of you. He takes a step towards you, and you instantly stiffen. He seems to notice because he sighs and then walks past you to the vending machine that was next to you, pulling out some spare change from his pocket and inputting it into the machine.

“Do you want anything to drink?” The machine feeds him something, and he crouches down to pick it up before standing up again.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, hand clutching the handle of your suitcase.

He cracks the can of his soda open. “So, you’re going to be traveling with us for the newsletter now?” he asks, so concisely, like he felt that every word comes with a tax.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to act like we’re strangers.”

You turn to face him. “What should we act like then?”

There’s a hesitant look in his expression as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Can’t we at least be friends?”

The question softens you at your core, the tone of his voice sounding genuine. Being friends with him sounds so nice, and you kind of wish that’s what you two always were. Just friends. Maybe it would have avoided all of this heartache. But deep inside you knew that just being friends with him wasn’t an option anymore, at least not for now. “No, sorry. That’s just a recipe for disaster. I have to go check-in now.”

You grab your tote bag from the bench, grip tight onto your suitcase handle and make your way splashing across the shallow puddles then through the hotel’s automatic doors into the warmth of the lobby.

The lighting inside was warm and there were moderately high ceilings adorned with vintage-looking chandeliers. Around the perimeter, there were amenities including a cozy lounge with a fireplace, a small bar serving cocktails, as well as a business lounge with booths and multiple TVs mounted to the walls playing the local news. It made you feel like you were on vacation, and getting to a hotel at this hour while on vacation always meant that you were about ready to pass out on some freshly washed and tucked white linen sheets after taking a nice warm shower with a lavender-scented mini soap bar.

Making your way through the maze of plush seating areas, you get to the concierge desk to check-in. There was a professionally-dressed woman with a slicked-back bun standing there behind the counter, her eyes scanning the computer screen in front of her, and a big, burly man that stood behind her wearing all black that appeared to be security.

“Hello, I’m here to check-in,” you say, placing your forearm on the cold black counter.

The lady doesn’t look up from the computer screen. You clear your throat.

“Oh, hello. Name on the reservation?” she asks you.

You take a look down at your phone screen. The reservation was still under the name of the person that had recently quit the job. “Yui Ishikawa.”

The lady behind the counter hums to herself, obnoxiously tapping at the keyboard with only one of her index fingers. She was chewing gum. “Hm. Don’t see that name here.”

“What?” You squint at your phone and refresh the page, then turn it to face her. “But it’s on your official booking site. There was email confirmation too.”

She glances at your phone screen then taps at the keyboard again, still obnoxiously loud, but she uses her other index finger this time. “Yeah, still nothing.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake,” you say to her.

She looks up at you with an annoyed expression. “Do you want to take a look at the screen? See for yourself.” She turns the monitor to face you.

You don’t even work here, but you could see clear as day on their interface software that there was a reservation for this Yui Ishikawa woman at this time tonight. You point at it. “It’s right there. The reservation is literally right there.”

She turns the screen back to herself and squints at it. “Oh. Well, unfortunately, we already gave that room to someone else. Since it wasn’t there on our system a half hour ago.”

“What? How is that fair?” You were starting to get seriously annoyed. That refreshing shower you were dreaming of was starting to sound more of a need than a want with every passing minute. “Can you give me another room?”

“No, sorry, we’re all booked for tonight,” she tells you, without offering any additional help.

You look at her baffled. The big burly man behind her has now taken an interest in the conversation as well. “Okay…can you tell me if there are any hotels nearby that I could stay at?”

“Look. This is the countryside, ma’am, there are only a handful of hotels in this area that aren’t tourist accommodations. It’s also the night before a men’s college soccer match, and there seems to be some business seminar taking place nearby too. You can call and check, but the closest hotel this large is about an hour away,” she tells you.

“What? An hour away? I can’t afford a cab ride like that,” you tell her.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t really my problem,” she says.

You blink at her. “Are you being serious? This is ridiculous.”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t comply with our booking rules,” she declares.

“Leave?! You’re the ones that messed up the booking!” You’re yelling now, a few heads turning from the bar at the back. Exhaustion was pulsing through your veins and your filter was slipping. “Do you have any idea how to do your damn job?”

The woman guffaws at you. “Alright, that’s it.” She snaps her fingers, and you watch as the big, burly man walks around the counter of the concierge desk to make his way to you.

You take a step back, watching in horror as he towers over you and grabs onto your arm. “Let’s leave without any issues, miss,” he says in a deep voice.

“What?! But– hey, that’s my suitcase! Don’t– wait–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you hear a familiar voice call out from the left. “What’s going on here?”

The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the voice, and you see Gojo, still clad in those ridiculously soft-looking pajamas, doing a light jog up to the counter.

The woman at the reception desk straightens herself up immediately, and she pets down on her dress and fixes her hair at the mere sight of him. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing to see here, sir! Just a crazy woman that can’t comprehend hotel establishment rules.”

“That crazy woman just so happens to be my wife,” he says, pulling the big burly man’s hand off of your arm.

All three of you look at him dumbfounded.

“Y-Your wife?” the woman asks, sounding equally surprised and disappointed. “But she’s complaining about the fact that she doesn’t have a room.”

“I know, she does that all the time,” he sighs, “she’s got–...early-onset…dementia. Sweetheart, what did I tell you about packing up all your things and leaving the room when I’m not watching you?”

You give him a what the fuck look. He scowls at you to just play along.

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

Gojo nods. “She always forgets that we’ve already booked a room together. Just a silly little sickly lady. Isn’t that right, honey?” He’s holding your shoulders and making you face the concierge woman.

“Y-Yes…” you say awkwardly, trying to put on a smile.

“So, if you could forgive her behavior,” he says with a super pleading voice, pulling you into him so your back is flush against his front side. “I’ll keep her in check from now on.”

The woman lets out a scoff in disbelief. “Alright…just don’t let her out again.” You send her a nasty look. The big burly man lets out a hmph and steps away from you.

“Sure thing. Let’s go, honey,” Gojo says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase in one hand and your upper arm in his other, dragging you with him across the lobby to the elevators. It isn’t until he’s pressed the up button and you finally gain your footing again after stumbling a few steps that you yank away from his grip.

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, feeling embarrassed.

He looks down at you with a raise of his eyebrow. “Saving you from getting kicked out of the only decent hotel within a thirty-mile radius?”

“I didn’t need your help, I had the situation under control,” you mumble, smoothing out the layers of your clothing.

“Yes. That’s exactly what that looked like,” he muses as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, taking your suitcase with him as hostage. You panic at the sight and step inside with him, the door closing behind you.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To my room,” he says, pressing a button on the control pad, “you couldn’t get one, right?”

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.”

Gojo’s room is on the fourth floor, eleven units down to the right, and you follow him with dragging feet all the way down. Once he makes it in front of the door and takes the keycard out of his pocket, he pauses and looks over at you. “Waiting for you to thank me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “For what?”

He’s waving the card in the air tauntingly. “You look exhausted as hell right now. I’m the one with the access to a nice hotel vanity and a soft, warm bed,” he practically purrs the words.

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” he chimes, pressing the card to the reader.

“Stop calling me that,” you grumble as he opens the door for you.

You step into the room, rolling your suitcase inside with you, and take a look around. There was a single bed with the headboard up against the left-side wall, a nightstand on both sides and a desk where you noticed Gojo had his laptop open and a few books out. The bathroom was to the right, and there was a long table that had a coffee machine as well as the TV on top of it.

You place your suitcase against the wall then turn around, standing only a few feet from the entrance of the room, to find Gojo still standing outside in the hallway.

“Do you have to go somewhere?” you ask him. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Oh, I don’t need any of my other stuff,” he says to you, tapping at his pocket where you can see the imprint of his wallet, “room’s all yours.”

Your eyes widen at him. “Wait…are you going to sleep somewhere else?”

He tilts his head at you, as if that was obvious. “Yeah, I was going to go crash on the couch in Suguru’s room or something.”

“But–” you start, stopping yourself.

He’s waiting for you to speak, but you can’t.

“Well…good night, then,” he says and he turns to the side, about to walk down the hall, when you reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

This was a bad idea. You’re supposed to be putting distance between the two of you right now, so that you can get over him. This was a man that very clearly said he didn’t have feelings for you. But honestly, you missed him. You missed him so damn much this past week, and you can only be strong for so long.

“You have an important match tomorrow,” you say quietly, “you should be getting a good night’s rest. We’ll share the bed.”

He turns to face you, looking down at where you were pinching the fabric of his shirt, which was just as soft as you had imagined, and he glances up to meet your gaze once again. “I’m…really confused right now.”

“What if you guys lose and are booted from the competition, and I have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that the reason the school lost a 12-year championship streak is all because I made you sleep on a couch?” you ask him.

He takes a step towards you. “You really want me to stay?” His voice was low.

“Yes,” you say. “We’re mature adults. Despite everything, we can just…share a bed for one night, right?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think you trust me a little too much.”

Your face felt hot. “Are you telling me that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m telling you that you should really think this through,” he says.

“Just stay. Please.” The tone to your voice came off much more desperate than you would’ve liked.

He looks at you like the last thing in the world he could say right now was no. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

“Okay,” he says, walking past you into the room, like he wasn’t really in the mood to argue about it anymore.

You sigh, sulking your shoulders a little bit, and watch as he takes a seat at the desk and continues to click through things on his laptop, occasionally sipping on the cup of coffee he had made for himself, as if your presence here was no unnatural thing.

This all felt so domestic for you. This feels like the most intimate the two of you have been with one another, despite the fact he’s literally made you cum with his tongue before.

“Who drinks coffee at this hour?” you ask, crouching down to unzip your suitcase, opening it up to find your cosmetics bag and a fresh pair of clothes to change into.

“Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.�� His eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen.

“You sound dead inside,” you comment, standing back up straight. You step over your suitcase that was on the floor and head into the bathroom, about to close the door but you open it enough to peer over at him from inside. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announce.

You see him poke his tongue to his cheek, leg bouncing up and down underneath the desk, and he squints at his laptop screen like there’s something so damn important that he must concentrate on or else the entire universe would collapse inside of a black hole. “Cool. Have fun.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

“There’s a lock on the bathroom door. Feel free to use it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” And then you’re shutting the door.

It felt nice to freshen up, especially after that long journey, and then you’re doing your skincare in the mirror while you’re wrapped in a towel, trying to forget the fact that the man you quite seriously have immense feelings for is somewhere outside that door just a few feet away in this small hotel room. You spray a spritz of your perfume onto your skin, something there’s literally no point in doing before bedtime, but you still do it…for no particular reason at all, obviously.

When you step back out into the room, Gojo’s eyes are instantly on you from where he stood near the closet. He takes in your appearance and lets out a laugh, looking at you with amusement.

“What?” you ask.

“You look so cute,” he says, “with your little sloth pajamas.”

You’re fully blushing as you make your way over to the armchair in the room to set your cosmetics bag down on it to sort through the mess you’ve just made of it. “Don’t call me cute,” you scold, searching for your lip balm.

You could feel his frown from behind you. “You don’t like it?”

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

You turn around to face him. “Satoru. You promised me you wouldn’t lead me on anymore. That includes teasing me or complimenting me.”

He looks at you incredulously. “What? I can’t even call you cute? This fucking sucks.”

“Your problem,” you say.

“So you’re cool with sharing a bed, but you’re not cool with me complimenting you,” he lays it out.

“We’re sharing this bed out of the kindness of my own heart,” you say to him, “because I care oh-so-very-much about your soccer career, and understand how important good sleep is for an athlete’s performance. I’m just that considerate of a person.” You point a strict finger at him. “But for your information, if you touch me while we’re in bed, I’ll kill you.”

“Hm. Not sure if I feel threatened or turned on right now,” he says.

You roll your eyes and finally zip up your cosmetics bag, set it on the table then make your way to the left side of the bed. When you glance at the nightstand, you notice Gojo has his wallet, his phone and his charger all situated there.

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

“Huh? Oh, I was going to sleep on that side,” he says to you.

“I usually sleep on the left side,” you tell him.

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

“I–…I’ll sleep on the right side,” he suggests, shoulders tense and on edge.

“Okay,” you shrug, and move his stuff.

Gojo spends some time freshening up in the bathroom too, and when he comes out he looks like he’s actually tired, and you feel like it’s the first time you’ve seen him look as worn out as he probably should be for someone as busy as him. You’re already settled under the sheets, the duvet pulled all the way up to your chin as you lay on your back. He comes up to the right side of the bed, checking his phone for a few minutes while standing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then plugs his phone into the charger. He grabs the sheets, about to pull them back, when he pauses and looks at you.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I’m sure about this one more time, I will no longer feel sorry for you, and will make you go sleep on the love-stained couch,” you threaten him.

He grimaces at your choice of words and pulls the sheets back, slipping himself into bed. “Why do you have to put it like that? You’re gross. Also, I’m pretty sure this bed has seen less-than-holy things too.”

The only lighting in the room came from the warm, dim bulb of the night lamp at Gojo’s nightstand. An incredibly awkward silence settles between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just awkward for you, because he seems fine. He’s on his back too, looking up at the ceiling, practically motionless but there’s the faintest sound of his breathing every once in a while and it’s a sound you’ve never heard in such detail before.

He turns his head to you, but you don’t meet his gaze just yet. You shuffle a little bit, hip bumping against his side, elbow hitting his arm. He’s masculine next to you, shoulders hard, muscles heavy, but when you finally turn your head to glance at him and see the expression on his face, you realize that everything about him was rigid—except for the way he was looking at you.

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?”

“The can of strawberry vanilla soda. Into my bag.”

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest.

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I wanted you to have it, regardless of how I thought my confession would go,” you assure.

It’s hard to read his expression from the side while he’s looking up at the ceiling, but it’s softer than it was a second ago. The need to change the subject consumes you.

“Why do you have calluses on your fingertips?” you ask him. “You’re a soccer player, you don’t use your hands for anything.”

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

You perch yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him with interest. His eyes flicker to your face. “Really?”

“No. I was just kidding. Hate the way you got excited though. I might have to pick up a guitar now.”

“Can you just answer me?” you sigh, flopping down onto your back again.

He laughs a little, a sound you feel like you could get drunk on at this point. He lifts his head up off the pillow enough to tuck his right hand underneath it, then rests it back down. You wish there was a mirror on the ceiling so you could see the flex of his arm. “Coach has us do the rock climbing wall at the gym at least once a week for practice. He thinks it’s a good workout. Causes a hell of a lot of skin tear though.”

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

You shake your head, “You should learn how to play the guitar, because that’s a lame reason to have calluses.”

He lifts his head up off the pillow again and brings the hand that was tucked under his nape to in front of his face and he just looks at it. You look at it too. “Why are you so obsessed with the state of my hands?

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

“They’re not that bad.” You wonder if you’ve made him self-conscious.

You watch the way he flexes his fingers open and then closed. He turns it around, and you can see the veins trailing down from the valleys of his knuckles, disappearing into the fabric of his long sleeve. You remember that party, the two of you in that bathroom, when his hands were all over you, and it’s suddenly a little hard to breathe. He turns his hand again so the palm faces him, but now it’s also slightly turned towards you too.

“They’re bad here,” you say, pointing to his ring finger where you see slight peeling at the tip. The padded skin of your finger touches his skin. “A little bad here, too.” You point to his index finger, careless enough to allow all of your fingers to brush against his this time.

He watches you. “Your hands are really small,” he comments, like it was a marvel to him.

You look over at him briefly, and there’s not a single sign of tension in his face as he observes the image of your hand next to his hand in the air above him. He looked like he was at peace.

“Yours are just big,” you tell him.

He knows he’s not supposed to, and you really shouldn’t have let him, but he interlocks his fingers with yours regardless, holding onto your hand. You feel the roughness of those calluses all across your soft skin. His thumb runs over the curve of your knuckle, almost in a soothing way, like he was trying to apologize to you for something. And this was the only way he knew how.

Something sobers him up, because he suddenly pulls his fingers from yours and drops his hand to the duvet. Your hand lingers in the air for a few seconds before you do the same. And now you’re both awkwardly staring up at the ceiling again.

“Sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

He sighs. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says out of nowhere.

“Huh?” you turned your body a little to face him, and he was looking up at the ceiling as if there was something across the texture that he was trying to decipher.

“I don’t want you thinking that the reason I can’t-,” he pauses, to think carefully about his words, “...that the reason I can’t return your feelings is because of you, or anything you’ve done. It’s been a while since I’ve liked anyone to be honest, and I’m just really not looking to date right now.”

You’re hurt by his words. Because even if he didn’t want to date anyone, you thought that he would’ve at least tried to for you. You thought that he had at least some feelings that the two of you could’ve worked off of. “Why don’t you want to date anyone?”

“Reasons.”

“Obviously. What reasons?” you prod. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “If it’s something traumatic, I get it. My hamster died in the fourth grade,” you say, “I’ve never known peace since.”

He turns onto his side to face you with a soft and amused smile on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What was your hamster’s name?”

You try not to feel hot from the burn of his gaze and you turn onto your back to look up at the ceiling again. “Mr. Guilmon,” you say.

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. My mom wanted to name my hamster ‘Scout’ but I refused,” you tell him, blinking a few times as the memories from your childhood come back to you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“I love digimon,” he says, fast, like he couldn’t contain it.

“Really?” you give him a sidewards glance, a little surprised.

He hesitates slightly before sighing, turning over in the opposite direction to reach for his wallet on his nightstand. You feel the fabric of the duvet stretch across you from the movement, and you remember just how intimate this all felt. He’s laying on his back again, holding his wallet up in the air with both hands as he flips it open, then slides his credit card up out of the slot, and shows it to you. Digimon themed. You have to purse your lips together to hold back your laughter.

He turns his head to look at you when you can’t help but let a little noise escape your mouth, and you can see through the laughter-induced sheen of tears in your eyes that he’s frowning.

“Hey–”

“I’m sorry–” you're fully laughing at this point, hand over your mouth to try to contain yourself, “it’s just– oh my god— you’re the last person I would’ve expected to have been such a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd–” he tries to argue but you snatch the card out of his hand to study it closer, and also to memorize the numbers on the back.

“Popular soccer boy Gojo Satoru,” you’re giggling, “has a custom Digimon credit card.”

When he tries to reach for it, you stretch your arm off to the left. His weight leans on you, chest pressing against the curve of your shoulder, arm extending across you as he tries to grab his card back. “Quit it,” he mutters.

“No,” you say, holding it further to your left, weakly trying to push him away from you.

“Quit it,” he repeats, face scowling now with what looks like embarrassment, and he holds his upper body up by the elbow, leaning over you even more to reclaim it, “or else.”

“Or else, what?” you say through wheezes, and it seems like something in him snaps because suddenly he grabs your wrist, hard, pinning it down onto the mattress, holding it there next to your head, and his entire upper body is towering over you. Shocked, you’re breathing fast, your eyes darting across his face, and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw.

“Or else I won’t keep my promise,” he says through a harsh breath, his voice low and rough.

You’re stunned underneath him. “What promise?” you ask, breathlessly.

He leans down closer, to the point where the fringe of his hair brushes against your forehead. “My promise to hold myself back from you.”

You swallow hard, chest heaving. You feel the heat of his hand on your wrist burning through to your veins. You try to squirm slightly in his grip, but he just presses your wrist down further into the mattress.

He glances at your lips, eyes dilated and stern, and leans down even closer to you. “Do you have any idea how bad I’ve been wanting to punish you for leaving me in that bathroom by myself?” he says in a voice so husky you feel the arousal build at your center the second your head registers it.

You can’t find your words. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, as if to make sure yours stay on his too, and you’re docile under him until he’s distracted you enough to pinch his credit card between two of his fingers and discretely pull it out from your grip. He then lets go of your wrist and disappears out of your line of sight when he flops back down onto the mattress next to you, tucking his card back into his wallet.

“But I won’t. Because I’m a nice person, and will respect your space. Or whatever.”

You don’t know what to say, your hand finding a place over your heart as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

“We should probably go to sleep,” he sighs after a minute, tossing his wallet back onto the nightstand and reaching over to turn off the light.

It’s dark now in the room, the only light coming from through the layered fabrics of the curtains. It's a cold light, possibly from the moon and maybe some dim neighboring white street lights, but it’s enough to where you could still see the slight texture of the ceiling, and maybe his face.

You both spend a few minutes trying to get comfortable. You try not to bump your butt against him, or brush your chest against his arm, but it happens a couple times anyway, and you mentally curse yourself for it. The rise of the duvet fabric from his chest becomes shallow with his breathing, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but then the two of you turn over at the exact same time, facing each other, eyes flying open and gazes meeting. It startles the both of you, but neither of you look away or say a word. The two of you just sit in the moment for what feels like hours, and very could’ve easily been.

You’re the first to break the silence. “You know, there was a time where I thought that you weren’t even real.” You’re speaking hushed, like you’re afraid someone will hear, even though there’s only two souls in this room right now.

“What?” he asks, a slight raise to his eyebrow. “...why.”

“I don’t know. You’re like this urban legend around campus. You probably don’t know it, since you’re in it, but the world you’re in is very different from the world the rest of us students are in.”

He’s silent for a moment, his face being briefly illuminated by the reflection of a car’s headlights on the windows of the surrounding building. “I think I know what you mean.”

You blink at him. “I thought you would have a few more follow-up questions to that, but I guess you’re surprisingly self-aware.”

He hums to himself. “I think I can just put it into perspective.”

“Perspective?” you ask. You’re hanging onto every single one of his words tonight. You don’t want a single one of them slipping through you, not understood.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are moments where I feel like I’m not in that world anymore. And it feels nice. To get out of it.”

You want to ask him when those moments are, but he’s quick to speak again.

“I guess that means I’m aware of the moments where I am in it, so I know that it exists, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He looks down at your pajamas, at the dancing sloth at the front, and the crease to his brow relaxes slightly.

“Mhm, makes sense.”

His eyes are back on you, studying. There’s a strange look on his face that you can’t really comprehend. “I want to know about your world,” he says.

You breathe in deep, and exhale shallow. “My world is simple. I want to be a filmmaker and then live in a little cottage.”

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

“Yeah,” you say, “maybe in the countryside. The Italian countryside. With my own garden in the backyard so I can use fresh zucchini in my salads.”

“Any animals? Pets?” he asks, like he’s envisioning it all in his head too.

“Maybe some chickens,” you say, “I promised Mr. Guilmon I’d name another one of my pets after him someday. I have to keep my promise.”

He nods. “You do.”

There’s another silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time.

“Did you turn your photos in to your professor?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you tell him. “Earlier this week.”

“Nice. What about your reference for grad school?”

“I asked him for it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “How’d it go?”

“Mm…I was really nervous, but it went well. He said he’d do it.”

There’s such a tenderness to his expression that you feel so compelled to kiss him right now. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you. That’s one step closer to your dream.”

You purse your lips together from his words, sitting with the warm feeling in your chest. You want to thank him again, but instead all you say is “we’re even now.”

He lets out a small chuckle. It comes from his throat. “You’ve said that so many times.”

“I know.” Because you can’t believe it’s all over. This little arrangement between the two of you. You don’t want it to be over. “I can’t remember when the first time I said it was.”

“That night,” he answers you fast and with certainty, like it was at the forefront of his mind, “when you drove over rocks. And we sat together on the curb. And I realized how badly you take care of your car. You don’t need thousands of chain restaurant napkins in your glovebox, by the way. No matter how much you might think you do.”

“Wow. I was almost romanced by you for a second, but you ruined it,” you mumble.

You’re instantly taken back to that night. You remember the gentle quality in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, and you can still see the reflection of that sky in his eyes right now with the way he’s looking at you.

“I really liked you that night,” you whisper, “I wish you were like that all the time.”

“Am I not like that all the time?” he asks, voice soft to match yours.

“No,” you say, “sometimes you’re mean.”

His eyes on you are gentle, somewhat careful. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

You wonder if you can change his mind. If you can will him to like you back, if you can will him into wanting a relationship with you. You want to be his exception, not his rule.

“It’s okay. I’m mean sometimes, too,” you say, “mean to myself for sharing a bed with a guy that doesn’t like me.” He’s looking at your lips as you speak. “I’m bad like that.”

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

“I am,” you say, and you inch closer to him, until there’s hardly any space between the two of you. You look up at him, faces inches away. You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to. You press a flat palm to his shirt, searching for his heart, and you find that it’s beating fast in his chest. “I’m a bad woman, Satoru.”

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

“You said you’d kill me if I touch you,” he reminds you, sounding a little breathless.

“I can’t kill you, you’re way stronger than me,” you whisper, “so touch me.” Your hand is gripping onto the fabric of his shirt now, tight, with desire. He’s looking at you with a whole lot of desire too, but there was something else there as well. “Please.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist–the heat of his touch that you so badly wanted, craved, finally on you–but it’s to pull you away from him. Your grasp on his shirt releases and he brings your hand to the front of your chest, laying it down gently before letting it go. Your wrist lays limp there, missing his touch. Limp in front of your beating heart.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you look at him, and you couldn’t even hide the hurt that settled across your face if you tried. Gaze dropping to his chest, you see the way it was rising with every breath he took, and for the second time in this life, you’ve felt so utterly rejected by him. You give him a compliant nod, and scootch back away from him before turning away. He stays as he is, watching your back, and you can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck.

Counting the minutes to fall asleep felt exhausting, but the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes was the feeling of a tear trickling down onto your pillow, wet and cold against your cheek.

–

You wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and an even emptier feeling heart. There’s also this weird feeling of disappointment within you, and you don’t really know why.

Grabbing your phone on the nightstand, you quickly search for the email with the men’s soccer team practice schedule, and you see that they had a sharp 8am practice this morning before the game in the afternoon. The time reads 6:37am, and you’re wondering where Gojo went so early in the morning before heading off to the practice field.

You went back to sleep for a couple hours, and then woke up again. By the time you took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to eat breakfast, it was already 10:00am and it was time to make it to the field so you could set up and calibrate your camera prior to taking photos for the match. Following Utahime’s gameday instructions, you took a cab to the location with all of your gear.

The Kyoto soccer stadium was less of a stadium and more of an extremely large and open expanse of grass that had enormous silver metal stands stretching across the perimeter. It was something you would expect of an area in the countryside, but security was still somehow tight across the fenced off area.

It was still a couple hours before the game, so the field was bustling with pre-game set-ups and the stands were empty. There were a few sports canopies being put up, as well as a small truck with workers that were working to stock up the hydration stations. A few men in suits were seated at tables with notepads and clipboards, looking busy in conversation and on what sounded like business calls. As you walk down the sidelines, you notice a few other people checking the distances between the goals and the chalk markings across the field. The stands were extremely close to all of the action, and when you look to the right, you see a couple of familiar faces there.

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

You approach the group of three people, all seated on the lowest metal bench of one of the spectator sections. There were a bunch of tripods, cameras, cases, and laptops sprawled across in front of them. You recognize Hana and Minato, but you don’t recognize the other man sitting with them. You had met Hana and Minato at the game against Osaka last week, they were both professional photographers for the newsletter.

Hana hops off the bench and comes up to you. “It’s seriously so cool you’re here with us and that Utahime got you this gig,” she says to you with a smile. “Make sure your schedule is free on nights after matches, all us photographers usually get dinner together afterwards. You’re the baby out of us, so we’ll pay for you.”

You return her smile with one of your own. “That’s sweet, and sure I’ll try to.”

You glance at the man whose name you didn’t know, your gaze meeting his, and soon enough he’s jumping up onto his feet too and making his way over to you.

“Ah, this is Kaito. Kai for short,” Hana says, gesturing to the man, and then to you.

Kai extends his hand out for you to shake. He’s tall and a bit lean. His style is really boyish—totally nailing the street photographer outfit with the white shirt underneath a flannel one, and some Carhartt pants paired with some Vans. You reach out to shake his hand, and he holds onto it for a second longer than you would’ve expected.

“Hi,” you greet him and tell him your name.

“That’s a nice name,” he says with a smile.

Hana claps her hands together. “Okay! We all know each other now, that’s great. We should get started prepping before the players get here, I believe they’re scheduled to be here in an hour.” She walks over to the benches and picks up her digital camera. Minato grabs his as well as his tripod, then walks over to Hana’s side. “The way we usually do it is to split the field into corners, and each of us works that perimeter. The videographers are here too, so just make sure you don’t accidentally knock over or stand in front of one of their cameras.”

All three of you nod at her and you unzip your case to take your film camera out. Kai is next to you, looking at the device in your hands curiously.

“Kai, you can work with y/n for today since it’s her first day. Split up those two corners over there,” Hana says, pointing to the other end of the field. You and Kai look in that direction. “Minato and I will take the other short end.”

With a few more discussions and detailed instructions, the four of you disperse to your assigned locations. You’re a step ahead of Kai, although he should really be the one leading your stride since you’re the new one here, but he soon enough catches up to you.

“Is that a Canon AE-1?” he asks you, pointing to your camera.

You look at him a little surprised. “Yeah, it is. As vintage as they get.”

“Sweet, I used to shoot on film too. Second-hand?”

“No, third. Still cost me an arm and a leg, though,” you sigh.

He laughs. “They’re not that expensive.”

“I’m a broke college student. I sometimes have to choose between paying rent and eating food,” you say to him.

He kicks at a random can on the grass, sending it flying forward, instead of picking it up. “Yeah, definitely don’t miss those days.”

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says.

You bend over to pick up the can he kicked and jog a little to the trashcan nearby, tossing it in, then jog back to him. “That’s nice. You’ve been doing this for two years?”

“Yup,” he says to you as the two of you reach the corner of the field outlined by freshly drawn chalk. He kneels down on the grass, sets his camera case down, and opens it up. Your jaw drops.

“Is that a—Leica camera?” you ask him, shocked.

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

“Oh, so you’re just rich, then,” you sit down on the grass to look at it with interest, marveling at its condition.

“Nope. I’ll bet I got it for cheaper than your Canon there,” he points to the camera hung at your neck.

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

“Way,” he says, pulling out the attachable lens before wiping at it with a microfiber cloth, “I know a guy. He sells used cameras. The only issue is you’ve gotta refurbish them yourself.”

You sigh. “Wonderful. Because I would know how to do that.”

He lets out a half-laugh, and you glance up briefly to look at his expression. He was amused. “It’s pretty easy, just gotta do it once. And then you’ll have a used Leica that works brand-new, all for just under a hundred-thousand yen.”

You’re looking at him with surprise again. “That cheap?”

“Yup.”

“Wow…” Your finger plays with the lens cap on your camera.

“If you want, I can send you his info. But if you want to meet up with him, it’ll probably have to be facilitated through me,” Kai says, “He takes clients by recommendation. No use in selling a used camera to an idiot that doesn’t know how to refurbish it. He’s looking for niche photographers that have the interest.”

You press your lips together, considering it. “Sure.”

He hands his phone to you. “Alright, gimme your number.”

You hesitate for a second before typing your number into his contacts then hand it back and watch as he saves it in his phone. “Canon girl. Won’t forget ya.”

The two of you make work for a second, eyeing the field and mapping out angles of where to get the best shots during play. Kai gives you some pointers and you’re marveling at how good they are.

“Not really used to shooting on film anymore,” he mumbles, peering through the hole on your camera when you handed it over to him, “but usually a one over five-hundred shutter speed works well for sports. I’d switch between that and over two-fifty though, to avoid a blurry finish.”

“Thanks,” you say to him, wanting to write all this down to not forget it. “Wish I knew this last week.”

“Why shoot on film?” he asks out of nowhere, handing your camera back to you. “Why not digital?”

“Oh, it’s a personal interest,” you say to him, adjusting your shutter speed as he suggested, “I think there’s a charm to it. I want to be a movie maker, and shoot on film medium.”

He frowns at you. “How are you going to do that?”

You tilt your head at him, shuffling on the grass. “I’m going to apply to the film graduate program at UTokyo to start.”

He laughs at that from where he’s seated across from you. “Really? That’s a waste of your time.”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest from his tone. “Why would it be a waste of my time?”

He turns to face you more directly. “y/n, trust me, I know this career path. Been there, done that. Millions of film majors like yourself always have these big-ass dreams like ‘I want to become a director, I want to do screenplay’ etc., but only one or two of them actually succeed.”

Your shoulders sulk. It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words from someone—your own parents practically recited them word-for-word before you headed off to college—but you had been doing really well all of senior year to ignore that nagging little voice in your head. It was honestly quite triggering to hear it all again right now. “Well, I think I can do it.”

He lets out a short scoff. “You sound real convincing there.” When he catches sight of your upset expression, he straightens his back a little. “My bad. Just trying to look out for you. I’m your senior in this industry. I know my way around these things. Trust me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. Thanks.” Part of you wonders if he’s just projecting.

“Well anyway,” he shrugs, “I think you should just focus on photography for now. It’s the safest career option for you to do.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, wanting to diffuse the conversation.

The two of you disperse to your assigned corners once the stands start to fill with spectators. Shortly after, the players make their introductions onto the field, and you can see Gojo across the field. He’s too far to read his expression, but for some reason when you look at him, that disappointed feeling from this morning comes back to you. You try to push it down and just focus on your task at hand.

UTokyo does well during the match, and Gojo seems to be playing much better than the Osaka game last week, scoring two goals within the first half. There were a couple of times where there were throw-ins near your corner, and you made eye contact with him as he’s breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his face with his jersey, and every time you look at him, that melancholic feeling washes over you again. UTokyo wins 3-2, the crowd evidently disappointed as they were rooting for their home team, and by the time the disgruntled fans started to clear the stands, the sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a golden color.

The referees on the field begin to oversee the post-match proceedings with the players. Kai comes around to meet you at your corner, and Hana and Minato arrive there too.

“Hey team! How’d it go?” Hana asks, a little out of breath from her journey over here.

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

“It was a little tricky,” you comment, “but I think my photos came out well.”

Hana nods. “Alright, sounds good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Kai and Minato nod, and then all three sets of eyes are on you. You hesitate for a moment, and look off past them to where you see the group of soccer players in conversations with the coaches and referees. You see Gojo standing there, his hands on his hips as he peered across the field, tilting his neck to the side repeatedly, and you realize he had been doing that all match long. That unsettling feeling within you starts to brew once again. “Uh, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I might just head back to the hotel.”

Hana and Minato nod at you with a concerned expression, while Kai just looks disappointed.

“Okay, well, I hope you feel better,” she says.

You end up taking an Uber back to the hotel in haste, not wanting to run into Gojo or any of the other soccer players after their match, and make it to the room, using the key card that Gojo gave you to get inside. You take a shower to freshen up, and by the time it’s 7pm, you’re starving. You put on a simple outfit and make it downstairs into the lobby of the hotel, about to go peruse the nearby dining options, but right when you step out of the elevator, you run into Gojo.

There’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face and you take in his appearance. He was still wearing his soccer jersey, covered in grass and dirt stains, and his face was slightly flushed from exertion. You figured he just came back from the field.

“Hey,” he says, “sorry, I was just about to head over there.” He jerks his head off towards the lobby, and you glance in that direction. There was a group of maybe thirty people gathered around the lounging areas and high-tables over at the business suite, and you recognize them as UTokyo’s soccer players, along with Coach Yaga and other team staff. The players were still all clad in their uniforms, carrying all their stuff, and there were plays of today’s game rerunning across the TV screens. You realize they’re probably prepping for interview questions for tomorrow’s conference.

“Oh, please, go ahead,” you say to him.

He tilts his head at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You were aware that things might feel awkward after last night, and that your cheeks would probably feel hot like they do now the next time you had to talk to him. Your mind takes you back to the memories, when you think about how badly you wanted him to stay with you in the room because of that hollow feeling in your chest from missing him, despite how you knew it was bad for you. Because this man standing in front of you doesn’t like you in the way that you like him.

And then it clicks. The reason for that feeling of disappointment you’ve had since the moment you woke up today.

When you glance up at Gojo this time, you see him differently than you had from a second ago. You finally notice the slight dark circles under his eyes, and figure out that the reason he’s been tilting his neck to the side all day was because he was trying to stretch out a kink. You vaguely recall that moment you woke up in the middle of the night, and your sleepy brain registered that there was no longer the dip of him in the mattress next to you.

“When did you leave the room?” you ask him. You know your voice is quiet when he has to lean down a bit to hear you.

He takes his time answering, indulging in a few breaths. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, starting to sound hostile, “you left during the night, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it.

“You left once I fell asleep,” you say, eyes widening with realization.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Where did you go to sleep?” you ask, trying to keep your tone level.

“Suguru’s room had an extra couch. I pushed them together.”

You felt sick and sad, feeling something worse than rejection right now. There was a part of you that still thought that all of this from him was just a joke. A prank. That he was finally going to say just kidding, I like you too. The reason you’ve been so disappointed since the minute you woke up today was because there was a part of you that thought you were going to wake up this morning with his arms wrapped around you, back pressed tight to his chest while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear of how much he likes you, of how much he wants you, of how much he wants to be with you.

“Why? Even after I said I didn’t want you to have bad sleep?” Your voice was laced with hurt. You didn’t even know how to explain to him why it upset you, because deep down you’re scared it isn’t even valid.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I played fine today. And we won.”

“You could’ve stayed. Do you really hate me that much?” Your words are shooting to kill now. “So I’m good enough to finger in a bathroom at a frat party, but not good enough to sleep next to?”

He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this,” he says, tone starting to match yours, “you’re the one that wanted space. I was just trying to respect that.”

“If you really wanted to respect my space, you wouldn’t have agreed to share the bed with me in the first place.”

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

“You should’ve known better.” You’re breathing fast, tone searingly accusive. “You know that I’m trying to get over you, and that I’m vulnerable, and that I’m probably confused about a lot of things right now.”

“I ask if we could at least be friends, you say no because it’d be some recipe for disaster, then you practically beg me to stay with you and tell me to touch you while we’re laying down together. You don’t think that’s confusing for me too?” he counters.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory of your desperate actions last night, and he instantly looks apologetic. You feel like you’re being unfair, but you feel like he’s being unfair too.

“I’m the one with feelings,” is all you say in your defense.

He swipes at his chin roughly with the back of his hand, smudging the dirt up to his cheek, and then closes his eyes for a second, like the weight of today has finally hit him all at once. He looks exhausted. “Right,” he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Yo, Satoru!” one of his teammates yells from the center of the lobby. “Coach needs you, man.”

He rubs a hand down his tired face then throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out and then looks back at you. You can’t make eye contact with him, and just stare at the print on his jersey instead. “I’ll sleep in Suguru’s again tonight. The room is yours.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry. “Okay.”

He reaches into his shorts pocket and gives you a room card. “Here’s the spare. I don’t need to come grab my stuff for the night, so don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

He sounds like he wants to say more, and you see him take a small step towards you, hand reaching out for you, but this time Coach Yaga’s stern voice is calling out to him too. He sighs. “Good night.”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

He hesitates before he turns on his heel and you watch his back, with that signature #10 stretched across the fabric of his uniforn, as he jogs through the hotel lobby to his teammates.

The walk back to the hotel room is depressing, and you find yourself dragging your feet all the way there. Once you make your way inside, you look around at the room and see some of Gojo’s belongings scattered around, but it didn’t seem like there were any of his essentials. You look down at the spare key card in your hand–a promise from him that he won’t try to upset you anymore tonight–and that lump in your throat from earlier comes back.

You hated fighting with him. You hated being away from him. Those feelings that you thought would go away just as fast as they came still sat so stubbornly within your heart, and it was becoming impossible to bear.

You wonder if meeting him was all just some horrible, twisted mistake.

Before you have time to dwell on that sad sentiment, your phone screen lights up with a message.

|| 7:52pm unknown number: kinda sucks you’re not here with us. was looking forward to showing you more of my camera

|| 7:53pm unknown number: this is kai by the way

The features of your face feel heavy as you look down at your phone screen. You don’t even notice your eyes are teary until you realize the blur of your vision makes it hard to see the letters as you type out a response.

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

|| 7:54pm you: can you send me the address? i wanna be there

a/n. grrrr i love a one-bed trope so much grrrrrrrrr it's gonna do it for me every damn time lol. thanks a bunch for reading!! there's still so much that i've got planned for the series haha i think the second half is gonna be a lot crazier than the first. super excited to write it though. by the way! i'm starting a choso x reader zombie au series, if you'd like to read more about it and/or be added to the taglist, you can reply to this post here also if you want to be added to taglist in general, i'd recommend making sure your tags are on!! since i've noticed a lot of people have them off

➸ take me to chapter nine!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd (hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

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bleedingoptimism · 16 days

Text

part one -> 📱💞🚙

The first video goes viral. They get a lot of new traffic on their page, and half of it gets curious about their music, and half of the curious ones even become fans. So the series is already a success with only one video out.

In the second video, Eddie, still blushing but smiling cheekily introduces Steve, who is all smiles and sunshine wrapped up in muscle and tan skin and people eat it up.

Then the actual process begins, and it's genuinely informative and quite good, Steve really knows what he's doing and he seems to have a passion for it that makes his eyes shine whenever he's explaining to Eddie what they are doing and what for.

It’s also fairly comedic, the series. Eddie keeps tripping all over his own feet making funny remarks to make Steve laugh. They both work on the van, because Eddie wants to get his hands dirty too, so Steve stays close behind, whispering instructions and murmuring praises while he works that have Eddie sweating and blushing from things that are completely unrelated to the manual labor and looking at the camera like he’s in the office.

It becomes kind of a thing because Eddie knows Steve doesn't watch the videos and everyone already knows from the first video that Eddie has a little crush on him. So he thinks it is just innocent fun that when Steve is working and Eddie has the phone in his hands instead of the tripod, he sometimes zooms on his back, his arms, the sweat on his neck, and then back to his face, sighing and shaking his head slowly.

TikTokers even start shipping them, saying Eddie has very clear cat energy and Steve is the most golden retriever boyfriend-coded man on the planet.

But something shifts as the videos go on, Eddie’s quips are less jokey and more just pure admiration for Steve’s work. When they film a time-lapse the audience can see them working together, bumping shoulders, Steve looking at Eddie and looking away when Eddie looks at him. And when Eddie is filming there are no more jokes about him pining on camera. It is just scenes of Steve laughing, or just smiling, working while he whistles. Zooms of his eyes, his nose, the highlights on his hair, the way the moles on his cheek move when he smiles crookedly at something dumb Eddie says.

The whole series becomes a documentary about how Eddie fell in love with Steve and then… it's complete. It's done. The van is finished. Eddie films one last video thanking Steve for everything, and making one last flirty joke about taking him for a ride. Steve laughs and runs a hand through his hair, telling Eddie he’s welcome. And that is it. The series is done.

It drives everyone insane because they love it of course, but also. Because it seems… unfinished. It's kind of a mess, Corroded fans are fighting the shippers and the shippers are accusing Eddie of queer bating, which he thinks it's fuckin hilarious and sad because it's his literal life they are talking about.

But the truth is, there’s nothing more to tell. They had a real conversation after Eddie stopped filming, a proper thanks and hug goodbye. And then Steve just left. He never made a move. And Eddie tried, he really tried. He insinuated, flirted, complimented. But Steve was either not interested or completely clueless (probably because of how uninterested he was).

And now Eddie has a beautiful van, completely equipped for two people to travel in style. And no one to share it with. So he stays at home, wrapped up in a blanket and watching the comments on his tiktoks, laughing and then crying with the way people describe how palpable their chemistry is. And he misses Steve. He keens, he pins, he craves.

part three ->📱💞🚙

☕🥐💕 coffee? by the side of the road?

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #i wrote something #modern au #rv au #i just made up a new au style (????

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bluejeanstrash · 5 days

Text

inspired by this and this (sfw)

tags: idol! seungcheol x idol! reader, reader is a certified brat, brat taming, seungcheol and reader are hooking up, use of oppa and hyung, suggestive conversation | wc: 1.4k

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

seungcheol swears he’s mistaken when he hears the first paparazzi call your name. but there it is again, and again, and by the time the crowd is screaming hysterically, he’s sure it must be you. he turns around as he’s being escorted into the venue to see you on the red carpet, waving to the cameras, posing with a poise only a professional idol has. you look jaw-droppingly good, and he curses at the fact that he only got to see you for two seconds.

things work out in his favour though. he reaches his table to see a place card with your name on it. idols seated together. not a bad marketing decision.

unlike the vibrant red carpet, the inside of the venue is dim, a velvety purple hue painting the room, and there’s a dj whose set suits seungcheol’s taste. it’s nice being here after months of hiatus, and it would be even nicer if you’d get here quicker. your group and seventeen were contemporaries, and pretty good friends, though in the public eye it seemed like you’d barely interacted. everyone wanted to keep it that way.

finally, after what feels like hours, you walk in, heads turning as you make your way to the table. he checks you out, slowly this time, blown away by just how incredible you look. your dress is sensual yet subtle, and his hands are itching to feel the fabric, and you under it. you’re a few steps away when you pause, spotting him, equally surprised to see him here. you would rarely cross paths during schedules, so this was unusual.

respectful bows are exchanged before you take a seat. a waiter comes by to drop off glasses of champagne, and you take that as an opportunity to check seungcheol out. all black everything with faded auburn hair looks very sexy on him. you make a quick decision about what you want him to do to you in this outfit.

‘i didn’t know you were attending. just you?’ he asks politely, in stark contrast to how impolitely he'd fucked you the last time you met.

‘just me. just you?’

‘and wonwoo. wonwoo!’ seungcheol waves him down as wonwoo makes his way to the table, taking a seat to your other side.

‘hyung, they need you for some solo press’ he informs and seungcheol is escorted away by his manager.

in the 10 to 15 minutes that seungcheol’s gone, you make small talk with wonwoo, touching on agency-approved topics like comebacks, dance challenges, and the like. topics that wouldn’t cause an internet meltdown when someone would inevitably zoom into your lips and try to breakdown every word being said.

what you’d actually been dying to discuss with wonwoo was his latest fling, and why he’d ghosted them, but that’s filed away for another day.

seungcheol returns with a second drink in his hand, and message for wonwoo ‘wonwoo-ya, they’re calling you now. do well’ he encourages like always.

seungcheol takes a seat beside you, close enough to dispel any negative rumours and far enough to not get pulled into dating ones.

‘have you finished press?’

‘what?’ you lean forward, the music too loud to speak at a distance. he does the same, almost placing his hand on your thigh but he catches himself in the last second, closing his palm into a loose fist and resting it on the table. seungcheol repeats his question, and you nod. yes, you’re done with press.

‘there are way too many cameras here’ he recognises a few fans who run his biggest fansites, all “discreetly” pointing huge DSLRs in his direction. he has to be careful not to accidentally touch you. not to do something that makes both your names start trending tonight.

‘are you done with schedule? what are you doing after this?’ he gives your dress a once over, trying to figure out how to undo it. there’s a complicated knot at the back which makes him eager to try.

the corners of your mouth curl into a playful smile before you take a sip of the bubbly. the sparkling gold goes down easy, and your words come out smooth,

‘you’

his eyes widen as the gulp of champagne he’s taking enters the wrong pipe, sending him into a tiny coughing fit. his eyes dart around the room to see if anyone caught that.

he takes another sip to recover, regaining any composure lost. then he leans in, plump cherry lips brushing against your ear ‘don’t say shit like that when we’re in public or i swear to god’

he sits back, adjusting the fall of his suit, and runs his fingers nervously through his thick hair which bounces right back into place.

this time you lean in completely, seungcheol refusing to meet you halfway, your earrings dangling with the motion ‘or what? what’s oppa going to do to me? punish me for being bad?’ you have a dangerous lilt in your tone that makes his dick throb.

‘stop. it.’ he mouths a warning. as if that has ever made a difference.

to seungcheol’s surprise, you had turned out to be quite a handful. you were different from your idol image. same, but different. he’d liked you instantly when you’d met outside work at his manager’s party and one thing led to another till you both had hooked up. he couldn’t believe it. you were two of his favourite things — a brat and a nasty slut combined into one gorgeous woman, and seungcheol wouldn’t have it any other way.

though, right now he could, because at this moment you were a pain in the ass and a throb in his dick, both of which he couldn’t afford. it’s not like he could refuse to engage in conversation with you. how bad would that look? so he stays still, listening to whatever lewd filth you’re whispering into his ear.

‘oppa, you know that thing you said you wanted to try with me? you wanted to put it inside my…while you turned on the vibrator in my other hole? can we try it? please?’ you leave your words vague, his imagination running wild. he’s going to kill you. it can’t get any worse, he thinks, but then the music changes.

an rnb song. no, an rnb song that’s no. 24 on your blended spotify sex playlist. in a biological reaction that would make pavlov proud, his cock starts to stiffen in his pants from the very first note. he catches your eye, looking away instantly. this is bad. this is very bad.

in an attempt to hide the tent that’s pitching in his pants, seungcheol crosses one leg over the other, taking further precautions to cover his crotch with a drape of his arms. it’s clear to you what’s happening, and if it wasn’t obvious enough he starts bouncing his knee, moving it a million times a minute. he’d read somewhere it gets rid of an unwanted erection, but it seems to be doing jack shit.

you lean back, amused, smoothing a flyaway hair, and elegantly throw your sleek locks over your shoulder to reveal a hint of your cleavage. seungcheol has spent a lot of time in there — kissing, licking, sucking…and shooting cum on that strip of skin. you know what you’re doing. he knows what you’re doing. the waiter who just walked past knows what you’re doing. seungcheol makes a mental note to tell his manager not to book you both at the same event ever again.

he tears his gaze away from your chest, focusing on the table in front of him. how many overlapping stitches can he see? he counts.

but you’re not done yet. no, you want him riled up and pissed off. you want that vein in his neck to pop. you wonder if you can run the risk of sliding your foot up his leg. probably not, and yet a second later the point of your heel slides up the inner seam of his pants, making him jump in his chair.

his jaw clenches, his neck tightens ‘that’s enough, you fucking brat’ he spits, forgetting to lean in or hide his mouth.

you grin impishly, taking a congratulatory sip of your champagne. he doesn’t know this but you’re soaking wet, your panties sticking uncomfortably to your cunt. riling him up always made you leak arousal in anticipation for the impending punishment.

unfortunately, before you can get a teaser of what’s to come, wonwoo returns, walking alongside your manager. you’ve done your part, made your appearance, and it’s time to leave, he says. you say your goodbyes, first to wonwoo, and then turn to seungcheol who lets out a small huff of air before standing up. he smiles for the cameras and bows, glaring at you as you lock eyes and whispers,

‘you’re in so much trouble’

#idk i just felt like yapping #not proofread #i will get to it #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #scoups #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #choi seungcheol #scoups fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol #scoups imagine #seungcheol imagine #scoups drabble #seungcheol drabble #scoups oneshot #seungcheol oneshot

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caesium-55 · 1 month

Text

—seven days. [ vi.ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: guess who's not listening in her calculus lecture rn. also, wifi is acting funny rn.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

2020

There have been a lot of new protocols to follow. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. Races being rescheduled. Australia, China, Netherlands, Monaco, Azerbaijan, Canada, and France are canceled. Vietnam is postponed. The first race of the season takes place in the Red Bull Ring in Austria and Max gets a fucking DNF.

After exchanging Instagram accounts in December, Max has spent a normal amount of time stalking your feed. That's what you do when you’re trapped inside your apartment alone because of a global health crisis, you explore the online world.

It seems like you’ve been operating the account since your university days and a lot of your posts show a side of you that’s different from the manager he knows. He learns that you play billiards competitively. You've even reached an Australian tournament. He learns that you watch NASCAR and motocross and drift racing. He learns that you know how to drive a firetruck. He learns that you like partying in LA and you took up volunteer work in the LA fire brigade around your sophomore year. He learns that you’re particularly fond of taking pictures of the skies at different times of the day and the things you’re studying. He notices that you only post group selfies or low angle blurry selfies of you. You don't take pretty pictures of just you.

The oldest post is a photo of you offering a middle finger while smiling and filling up the gas tank of a truck. You're also wearing a red sweatshirt with the letters USC written at the front and skinny ripped jeans. If you swipe right, the next photo shows a picture of you and your group of friends writing on papers on the hood of the truck. Max sees numbers and scratches and crossed out sketches. Max notices a canned beer on your other hand while you press down on your scientific calculator buttons and shakes his head. You do not change.

The latest post is a photo dump of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2019. A picture of the aerial show, grainy zoomed in pictures of the garage, selfies with the mechanics, a bathroom mirror selfie, and a blurry picture of a beer in your hand from the after party. He presses like in every post, latest to the oldest.

you: fucking stalker

max: fuck you

max: *sent a photo*

max: nice teeth by the way

you: i hate you

you: *sent a photo*

you: ya think im the only one who looks ugly with braces?

Since then, Max’s relationship with you has considerably improved. The two of you spend a lot of nights dm-ing each other on Instagram and sending each other reels.

max: SOS

you: ??

max: I THINK THE STOVE IS ON FIRE

you: the stove is supposed to have fire

max: ITS ON FIRE

You and Max sit on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, chest heaving in quick breaths, shoulders bumping against each other. You hold the fire extinguisher close to your chest and your eyes are closed and your lips are parted a little. Max observes your side profile.

You're not a categorically attractive woman. But with the way the sun rays enter Max’s kitchen window and hit your face at all the right angles, you look like someone worth missing a sunset over. Max allows himself to stare and mentally tries to convince himself that this is a very normal amount of staring at one’s manager slash friend.

He’s crossing the line that divides friendship and something unnamed.

“Do you need me to call maintenance so we can get your stove replaced?”

Max nods.

“Yes please.”

You post a new picture on Instagram after a long period of dryness. Max gets a notification. He checks it out.

The caption reads: meet my full time dog and part time boyfriend

The picture is blurry and grainy but Max can make out your face perfectly. There’s a billiard table. Max sees a person in the background. A man. He's wearing a Williams shirt.

Is that a racer? Max immediately thinks of Nicholas Latifi. You and him are around the same age. But the blurry man in the picture doesn't look like Nicholas. The hair color and the build is different. George, maybe? He’s a year younger than Max. Do you prefer your men younger? Scratch that. That’s impossible. Max knows he has a girlfriend named Carmel or Carmen or something.

max: you have a boyfriend

you: youre fast

max: when did this happen?

you: uh

you: earlier?

Max resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

max: details [name]

max: i need details

you: nuh uh kid you havent unlocked that level of friendship yet

you: that's friendship level 8 ur still on level 6

max: i will hunt you down and force you to tell me

max: and don't call me kid i'm one year younger than you

you: id like to see you try

max: i think u forgot im the one who gave you the apartment where u live rn

You introduce Leo to Max a month later.

Leo is a British brunette guy with a face that one would consider mid in Europe but a ten in the US. He is one of the Williams mechanics. You mention that he used to do karting as a kid and even went up to F3 but he’s decided to discontinue his racing career because he thinks engineering and the technical aspects of a formula car is far more interesting than racing.

He’s basically the complete opposite of Max.

He’s a good guy, Max can tell. He’s well-mannered, he’s calm, he knows how to treat you right. Above all else, he makes you the happiest. You have the most genuine and beautiful smile on your face when he comes into your view.

He also handles your relationship very maturely. He doesn't demand. He understands that you work for different racing teams with different jobs and that means different priorities.

The weekly IG posts are also too cute. It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board.

Max will never tell you that he spends a good hour every time you post something with Leo in it like an obsessive freak. He tries to make sense of the feeling in his chest. Something green. Something ugly. Something he can't name.

Max should be happy that you found a guy as great as Leo. But he cannot, for the life of him, be fully happy for you. He doesn't know why.

“PR told me that you received a dinner invite from Kelly Piquet,” you state, sitting down on the empty chair across from him and putting your packed lunch on the table. You carefully lay the folded clothes on the other chair. Max deduces they will be the ones he’ll be wearing for the interview scheduled in about two hours. You already sent him the list of questions in his email but he hasn't opened them yet.

“Yeah,” Max says after swallowing. “She’s been sending invites since two months ago.”

“And you left her on seen?”

Max scoffs, “I didn't leave her on seen. I just…well, I saw them late and declined them politely.”

He knows Kelly Piquet. He’s aware of the history she shared with former Red Bull Racing now Toro Rosso driver, Daniil Kvyat. Max also knows she’s the daughter of Nelson Piquet, retired Formula One champion. He thinks it's rude to take the guy’s ex-girlfriend after he’s taken his seat in Red Bull.

“She’s interested in you,” you claim, opening the tupperware and quickly saying grace before digging in.

Max is not good with dealing with women. Twenty-three years old and he’s still girlfriend-less. But he knows how to recognize people who are interested in him. A significant number of women have tried their chances with him since he began racing professionally and he may have used you as some sort of getaway driver to get him out of all the awkward situations where he has to deal with women who are interested in him.

You have a very scary resting bitch face if you try hard enough. Its efficiency in scaring off people is proven to be, well, efficient.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you interested in her?” you question.

Max thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

“Do you think it’ll be good if I get a girlfriend?” he throws you a question instead of an answer.

“You're twenty-three, man. It's about time you start doin’ somethin’ about your empty dating history.”

Max nose scrunches but doesn't say anything because it's the truth. His dating history is hilariously empty.

“What’s your opinion of Kelly?”

“Uh, cool pussy, I guess. Don't really care.”

Max rolls his eyes, “You’re so crude.”

You shrug uncaringly.

“But I don't mind who you wanna date, man. I mean, it's your life. Date who you wanna date. Live the life you wanna live. All the jazz and shedazzle.”

Max accepts the dinner invite.

The 2020 season ends with Hamilton standing at the top, officially becoming a seven-time world champion. Bottas is behind him. Verstappen, like 2019, still stands in third place. Max vows 2020 will be the last year Hamilton becomes a world champion. The team doesn't hold a big afterparty like it usually does and Max flies home to Monaco immediately.

It's been months since he's started seeing Kelly and the woman is pleasant company. Her daughter, Penelope, is the most adorable human being that ever stepped on Earth. Max loves the little bean with all his heart and he himself is surprised that he’s capable of loving a little human this much. He’s practically convinced that he’ll be a shitty father one day. He does not have a good model figure to look up to when it comes to fatherhood.

Little P, Max learns, is obsessed with crocheted things. Max sees her little bags and little hats—all crocheted. Kelly says she pays their housekeeper to make things for little Penelope because she likes them so much.

Max decides he wants to learn how to crochet. He buys the material and learns through hundreds of Youtube videos. His first masterpiece is a bag. It's white and light orange. He shows it to his mum, who questions how on Earth did her son take an interest in a hobby other than racing or anything car-related. Despite that, she compliments it and Max feels confident that you’ll like it, too, now that he’s gotten his mother’s approval.

He finishes making it by the eighteenth day of December and he calls you, hoping he has the chance to give it before you fly down to Texas for the off-season. But you already left Monaco, just the day before and are now spending the first few weeks of the break in New Zealand with Leo.

“So it's serious?” Max asks you over the phone. He stares at the dark sky in Belgium. There's no stars tonight. Only the moon and it’s looking down at him like it's mocking him. Max wonders what the sky looks like in New Zealand right now.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well then, enjoy the holidays.”

“You, too, man.”

The call ends.

2021

Max sees you enter the Red Bull hospitality. The first thing he notices is that your shoes are brand new. Same model—the black and gold YSL Opyum heels, yes he knows the name because he searched it on Google—but brand new. Your bag is also brand new and it’s not the old cream-colored tote bag with peach prints. It's a cream-colored tote bag with Van Gogh’s painting—the Starry Night—printed at the front. You show it to Max excitedly and tell him that it's from Leo, the bag and the shoes, and Max fakes a smile the whole time. When he returns to his room in the evening, he throws the crochet bag he made over December in the trash bin. Kelly sees it but she doesn't question it.

“PR suggests that you film a Tiktok.”

Max groans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Tell them no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you encourage him, shaking his shoulders. “There's a lot of dance trends right now.”

“I said no, [Name].”

“Max.”

You throw your hands on your waist, looking at him pointedly with your lips pursed. Max returns the stare.

He gives up after five seconds.

“Fine.”

You huff in triumph.

“But you’re doing it with me,” Max bargains.

“Oh come on,” you throw your hands in the air.

“Now you know how it feels. Tell PR that I’m not going to film a Tiktok unless you film it with me,” Max smiles cheekily.

You're not going to film a Tiktok video with him. He knows you hate filming yourself and posting it for the public. There's a reason why you avoided cameras as if it’s the sun and you're a vampire and had all your social media accounts in private.

You pull an unexpected move and you nod your head.

“Fine.”

Max’s smile drops.

You film a Tiktok using Red Bull Racing’s official Tiktok account. A simple dance. Max does not know the title. The steps are simple and it's easy to memorize. He believes he can do this fairly easily. You don't look like you’re having fun while memorizing the dance steps but you're not overly struggling.

You film the video in three takes. When Max sees the final outcome, he cringes. His long limbs look awkward as he performs the steps despite thinking that he’s doing fine while filming it. You, on the other hand, look fine.

You look good while dancing actually. There’s a certain grace that accompanied your movements.

“You dance good,” Max comments.

“It’s the Latina in me,” you claim, raising your chin a little.

Max snorts.

You show the draft video to the PR team. Without hesitation, they scratched it.

“Why?” Max asks, brows furrowing.

“Apparently, they're too tired releasing statements that we’re not dating. They're afraid that the Tiktok video would bring back our dating rumors,” you roll your eyes. “They’ve decided to just make you do a Tiktok filter game.”

Max does the one filter where he has to solve the simple math equations projected on the screen. He has to tilt his head to the side where the right answer is placed and he needs to do it quickly.

Max is not bad at Mathematics. He’s not good at it either. He’ll say that he’s just average at it like every human being on Earth.

You sit beside him, barking him the answers before his brain can even process and perform the required operations.

“60 points. That's not good enough,” he says.

You nod, “Damn right. You're not tilting your head to the right answer fast enough.”

“Maybe you're not giving the answers quick enough.”

The video gets more than ten takes. The two of you don't stop until you get the perfect score.

Monza is a disaster. To summarize: the 53-lap race is won by Daniel Ricciardo, who has now moved to McLaren. He capitalizes on a good front-row start and the crash between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton to take the race lead. Lando, Daniel’s teammate comes in second with Mercedes' Valtteri Bottas in third. Max and Lewis—DNF.

Max doesn't remember the last time he’s been that angry and the anger doubles when he sees the seven-time world champion celebrate on the tracks. Max then decides that he’s going to be more risky, especially now that he knows how safe the car is. Max is willing to risk his life for number one.

Max lies in the medical bay and he hears voices outside. Too many voices. He’ll appreciate it greatly if the voices disappear. He's too angry right now that the noise of the outside world is too much.

“Max?”

The voices disappear and it's only you he can see, he can hear, he can feel. You're everything.

You said it. His name. It sounds even better than he imagined.

“[Name].”

After making sure he’s okay, you tell Max that you wish to go to Danny and congratulate him for winning. Max grabs your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You're not his manager anymore,” Max reminds you. “You're mine.”

He’s very much aware that he sounds like a child who refuses to let his older brother borrow his favorite toy but he cannot find himself to care. Screw Daniel.

You give him a long look but follows his demands anyway, “We’re gonna congratulate him later whether you like it or not. He’s our friend and he just got P1. We’re gonna be happy for him 'cuz that's what friends do. I’ll drag your ass to his hotel room if I have to.”

Jos Verstappen is not happy. When has he ever been happy with Max anyway? He calls Max after the Monza race and proceeds to yell because that’s all he ever does with Max. He yells. Max is embarrassed that he’s twenty-three and he’s still getting yelled at by his own father.

“Your Dad’s an asshole,” you stated after he ends the call. Max knows you heard his father’s voice even though he has not put the call on loudspeaker.

“Don't talk to my Dad like that,” he reprimands, though not unkindly. “But yeah, he is.”

You snort, “You okay?”

Max lets out a shaky breath, nodding weakly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You would think that after all this time I would get used to it but I don't know. It still makes me feel so uncomfortable and like I'm doing everything wrong even though I've been doing that for such a long time now and I've achieved so many things he asked for."

Your gaze softens and Max mentally begs that you stop looking at him like that. He does not want your pity. Pity is for the weak. Max is not weak.

You open your arms, “Rein it in, big guy.”

“What are you doing?”

“You need a hug.”

Max hesitates but he invites himself to your arms anyway. He allows himself to melt. In your arms, he feels like he's home and that he's good enough.

The breakup happens two race weekends later. Max is not dumb nor is he so emotionally indifferent that he cannot sense if a person is going through a breakup especially if that person is someone so close to him. He already knows there’s something wrong and he knows exactly what’s wrong and yet he still asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you say a little too quickly as if you already know that Max is going to ask the question.

“[Name],” his fingers circle around your wrist. “It's not nothing. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

He wants you to open up. He wants you to say something. He wants you to share the heartache you carry so it won't feel heavy on your shoulders. He wants to be someone who’ll carry your problems with you when the world feels too big and you too small.

You sigh shakily, forcing a polite smile. Your hand comes up to squish Max’s cheek in between your palms and Max’s brows rise slightly at the action. Your hands feel cold and they’re trembling slightly and Max wants to point it out, but he sees how your lips wobble and his mind just blanks, “It's not important. You only have one thing to think about and that is to win. You hear me?”

Max considers marching to the Williams Racing livery and demanding for Leo Stark but he chooses not to. You won't want him to, anyway.

Max never realizes how horrifying blood is until he sees it dripping down the side of your head. He watches as your face changes from shock to realization to absolute anger. It’s like watching you transform from human to a rabid animal who wants to shed blood. At first, he tries to pull you away and calm you down. When he sees the girl’s boyfriend appear, Max joins the fight. No man is allowed to hit you. Not on his watch.

The higher-ups are not the happiest when they learn of what happened. The PR team is having a field day as well. Someone captured the event in video and posted it online. Max has been given a script for the video he’ll have to do to save his image but it’s written differently. Different in a way that the way the words are arranged feels odd to him unlike the way you write your scripts for Max. You write the scripts as if Max is the one who writes them. You write the script in a way Max will write them. Because you know him enough to know what kind of words he wants to use and how he’ll phrase things. You choose words that are easy on his tongue and you structure the sentences so that he can memorize them easily.

Helmut is the one who says, “She should leave the team.”

“If you fire her, I’m leaving,” Max decides.

Christian narrows his eyes at him, “You won't dare.”

“Try me,” he challenges. “I am willing to pay millions to leave if she leaves.”

The other teams want him, Max knows. They know he’s rising to stardom, a racer who can stand equal to Lewis Hamilton in the right time. Red Bull is too afraid of spitting out their star now. Not when Max is already giving Lewis Hamilton a big run for his money this year. Not when Max just showed the world that he’s capable of more than just being third place.

The wretched Hamilton fan decides to sue and Max calls upon his mother’s help to find the best lawyers to fight for you. Sophie willingly helps him.

Max is going to protect you, like you always do to him.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 x you #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 #mv33

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fooled-around-and-fell · 1 year

Text

The Best Kisser

Summary: You were interviewed by Vanity Fair for their lie detector episode which went viral.. and Pedro happened to watch it as well.

Characters: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Genre: romance, fluff

Warnings: flirting, sex jokes

a/n: I am hungry for Pedro Pascal. He. Is. Daddy.

Masterlist

"Who's the best kisser out of all of your co-stars?"

Your eyebrows raised. "There's a few on that list. I don't think I remember them all."

"Don't worry, we have that list." The woman took out a piece of paper for you to read with the camera zoomed in from above you.

"Ben Covington, Daniel Kaluuya, Grant Gustin? I don't remember... Oh, in that one episode of Flash, right..." You went through the list of names while talking to yourself and stopped.

"Looks like you know your answer?"

"Yeah." You handed her the paper back, pressing your lips into a shy smile. "Pedro Pascal."

"Pedro Pascal? Why?"

You glanced at the camera. "Just because."

Pedro paused the video, a smile lingering on his lips. "Ah, cariño, what am I going to do with you.."

Oscar's New Year's party was happening tonight. It wasn't huge, mostly just his close friends and family, and your goal was to reconnect with them after your hectic year. You're good friends with both Oscar and Elvira, and they had invited you to come.

"Y/N, glad you could make it!" Elvira hugged you.

"Hey! I brought my mom's famous lemon pie and some beers."

Elvira welcomed you inside. "Perfect. Here, let me get that delicious smelling lemon pie and you can put the beers outside -- away from the kids, you know how it is. Oscar's outside too!"

"Cool, don't eat all the pie!" You teased and made your way to their backyard.

Oscar was there as she said, talking to a few friends, and a certain friend whom you recognized. A very good friend.

"So, how's the night going so far?" You stood between them, surprising the two men with your presence.

"Hey!" Oscar gave you a hug, "It's been a while! How are you?"

"I'm good," You put the beers down and faced the other man. "Señor Pascal."

"Señorita," Pedro smiled, hugging you and placing a kiss on your temple. "I heard you're gonna star in a big movie soon?"

You let out a nervous chuckle, "Hopefully it works out well. Can't tell you guys what it is just yet, but you'll see soon enough."

Oscar had sensed there was something you two needed to talk alone, so he left to help Elvira.

You offered Pedro the beer you brought. "So how about you? Heard you're gonna be on The Last Of Us? That's a pretty big deal."

He shrugged, beer in hand. "Yeah, it's pretty cool. I have yet to actually play the game, but my nephews are elated."

"Well if you want to try out the game you can borrow my console, I have it." You mentioned, though later hitting yourself in the head when you realized you just indirectly invited him home.

He raised a brow. "I didn't know you're into video games?"

"I like to play sometimes, but it's just good to have for my nephews when they're over."

Pedro nodded while noticing there were more people now. "Hey, follow me."

You and Pedro met when you were shooting a movie, that was 2 years ago. You've kept in touch since, but it was hard to meet in person due to your busy schedules. In the movie you two worked on, both of you were the main characters and the chemistry was off the charts.

Sadly it didn't win or was nominated for awards, but you made a good friend out of it.

It wasn't until Oscar's kid's birthday party that you met Pedro again. You met Oscar through the first Dune movie, and you had no idea that he was best friends with Pedro Pascal.

"It's been a while since I last saw you." Pedro said. "I've missed you, we should hang out more."

You nodded, unable to deny the beat your heart skipped and the blush creeping to your face. You convinced yourself it's the beer. "Yeah, I've missed you too."

Pedro took you to Oscar's balcony, where there were only the two of you. This way you could see the fireworks while also have a private conversation.

"So.. are you seeing anyone right now?" Pedro asked. Despite him being confident in front of the camera and knowing that his fans pray to him day and night, he was still nervous when asking that question.

You were his crush for the longest time -- yes, crushes still exist even for older people. He didn't want to mess it up with you, he knew his persona could come off as a fuckboy who has commitment issues, but he's really not like that.

You shrugged, "Nope. I've just been focusing on myself lately, just.. going with the flow."

Ever since you shot that movie, the chemistry was so great that both of you wanted to make sure it wasn't just 'the high' from filming a movie together and getting too immersed in the characters.

"I saw you in Wonder Woman," You said, "Please never shave off your mustache again."

Pedro laughed, "What, you're a fan of my mustache?"

"Pedro, please." You smiled, leaning against the railing next to him. "I used to play with your facial hair all the time when we were shooting that movie, remember?" You unconsciously traced your fingers along his beard.

The realization only hit you after Pedro was looking at you with adoring eyes. You pulled your hand away and you could feel yourself getting red in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I.. don't know why I did that." You turned the other way, letting the cool wind hit your face in hopes that it'll cool you down.

Pedro chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand, hiding his victory smile and the redness crawling up his cheeks. Did you really just caress his face like that??

Taking a big sip of his beer, Pedro gathered the courage to look at you once more, noticing your (also) flushed face and he smiled. He might have a shot at this after all.

"So," He cleared his throat. "Best kisser, huh?"

You knew exactly what he was talking about. "You.. watched the video?"

"You went viral." He smiled, "Of course I watched it. How could I not? When my cariño is talking so sweetly about me.."

You covered your face, "Okay, so I complimented you. And yes, you were the best kisser out of all my other co-stars. Congrats, I guess?"

Pedro had a grin on his face, a teasing grin, and you're now looking at him with a knowing look. Mostly because you both noticed the change in the mood, noticed that the chemistry is back, and that you both wanted this.

You didn't know how long you two were on that balcony, but it was probably a long time cause the crowd downstairs were starting to count down the new year.

"10! 9! 8! 7!"

Pedro turned his body so he was trapping you between his arms, "So, princesa,"

You looked up at him, holding his intense gaze, waiting for him to finish his question.

"You think I'll still hold that title?"

Your heart fluttered, you could see the hunger in his eyes, and you knew you felt the same way.

"I guess we'll find out."

You said it in barely a whisper, but Pedro picked it up loud and clear. He snaked one hand behind your waist and the other on your face, pulling you closer.

Everyone counted from three, two, one, and Pedro smiled sweetly at you, holding you close with your noses touching before pressing his lips to yours.

This was probably the first time ever you've missed the fireworks, but if this was how you'd spend the rest of your new year's, you really wouldn't mind.

---

a/n: in case you can't tell, I have a massive crush on this man.

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seoliee · 2 months

Text

LAD Men as Cats

Here again to serve pure fluffiness. I love cats and I love LAD Men. So, I thought, why don't I try to mix the two together and here we are.

Kind of weird to make my precious fishy; Rafayel into a cat though because he absolutely hates them.

Oh and no, Caleb in this one. I might make a separate one for him though like I did last time. I'LL STOP NOW SORRY.

What if they're your pet cats?

Word Count: 1.5k words

— RAFAYEL : Grey Birman

• Rafayel was a birthday gift from your best friend. You were immediately pulled in by his mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shine and bore deep within you. The first time you took him into your arms, he looks up at you with a guarded gaze followed up with a low growl.

• It didn't take long for Rafayel to get used to you and his new surroundings, his bursts of energy zooming all over the place that you sometimes can't keep up with him.

• Being an office worker and situated to work from home. You're always confined in your study and in front of a computer often leaving Rafayel on his own company.

• There was a time that you were in a zoom call with your bosses when Rafayel leaps up on your computer desk. He meows softly, trying to get your attention but you were far too focused on your work. He rubs the side of his face on your hand that rests on top of the mouse, and you returned the gesture by petting his cheek in which he purrs at.

• Rafayel walks in front of you, blocking your vision with his built and his fluffy fur as his long puffy tail glides under your chin in the playful manner. You excused yourself from the call and places him down. "Not now, Rafayel. Be patient." You gave him a quick pet before returning to your call.

• Being a very affectionate and somewhat mischievous cat. Rafayel wouldn't let that slide. He leaps up on top of a drawer where one of your mini ornaments were located, eyeing one of them. He heard you calling him, mouthing words that says 'Don't think about it.' So now you finally gave him the attention he wants. His paw gently hits the ornament off of the drawer as it fell down on the carpet flooring and he scurries away.

• After the call ended. You went to pick up the fallen ornament and much to your relief it wasn't broken. When you went downstairs, you saw Rafayel perched down on the armrest of your couch, his eyes on you. He jumped off, running up to you and rubbing himself and subtly wrapping his tail around your legs while purring. Acting as if nothing happened.

• You sigh, picking him up into your arms. You can't stay mad at him. "You're a very naughty kitty, y'know that?" You pull him into your arms, hugging him as he leans into your touch. "But it's part of your charm." Though, you still have to reprimand his actions by not giving him any treats in the next few days.

— XAVIER : White Turkish Angora

• You arrived home from work only to see a puff of white ball on your porch. You slowly got closer, realizing it's a cat curled into a ball and sleeping. You crouched down to take a closer look.

• The cat wakes up, stretching its limps then looking up at you with narrowed sleepy eyes, blinking slowly. You were sure it would scurry away, but it didn't even moved an inch from its spot.

• You reached your hand out to it, waiting for it to do something, but it only watches as your hand gets closer, letting you scratch the side of its head and leaning into your hand which melted your heart immediately. The cat got up on its four legs, and goes to rub against you. There you noticed it doesn't have a collar on. You obviously can't leave it to fend for itself out in the coldness of the night so you did the most reasonable thing and let it inside. The cat immediately went over to your couch, finding a good spot and going back to sleep. It's as if it already owns your place, you think.

• The next morning. You visit the local veterinary clinic to get the cat checked. There, you found out it's a male cat. You made eye contact with him, silently apologizing for calling him a 'she' last night. The vet also said he doesn't have a microchip on him, but is a very healthy cat, adding that he's also very friendly and calm.

• Once both of you are home. You took decent pictures of him, deciding to make posters and spread it around the neighborhood in case he has a family. After all, he might've had a collar, but lost it somewhere. You heard a low meowing sound, switching your gaze down and there he is looking up at you expectedly. "You're hungry, aren't you?" You chuckled, going into the kitchen and him following you. You open the cupboard, taking out a can of wet catfood and transferring its contents on his bowl afterwards setting it down, allowing him to eat. You decide to keep him until his owners claim him. If nobody comes for him in a month, you're going to keep him.

• The next days were quite eventful. You came home to him waiting for you by the door, greeting you with a very happy meow which dissipates all your fatigue away. Ever since having him, you no longer felt lonely and you always looked forward to coming home. He always slept next to you, and wakes up at the same time as you. He practically follows you everywhere in the house which you found adorable and endearing.

• You sat down on your couch with him laying comfortably on your lap as you pet his fur. Instead of watching whatever is on the television, your eyes are on him. A thought came into your mind, and that's naming him. But, you quickly tossed the thought away as naming him would only make you more attached to him and by then, letting him go would hurt you than it should've. Your chest felt tight at the thought of losing his companionship. It may sound selfish, but you silently prayed that nobody would come to claim him.

• One day, you came home from work and as usual he's there at the door step waiting for her like he always does. You pick him up into your arms, then setting him down on the couch and kneeling in front of him. You open your bag to take something out and reaches your hands to the back of his head. You retreat your hands away, letting the light tag rest on his neck and engraved with the name 'Xavier'.

• Indeed, a month has already passed and thankfully, nobody came. "Xavier. Do you like that name?" As if responding to her. Xavier goes up to you and gently licked your chin, you melt and nuzzles against him which he reciprocates with a loud purr. You will no longer feel lonely with Xavier around.

— ZAYNE : Black Persian

• Zayne was given to you by your cousin who told you she couldn't keep him anymore because him and her other male cat kept attacking each other. You, on the other hand have no qualms on adopting him. The thought of having a non-human companion is better than having an actual human.

• Zayne is a very quiet and aloof cat. Very quiet. At first, you thought that all cats are like him, but you watched a few cat videos where some of them would act like him, but have random bursts of energy at times and are playful. Zayne on the other hand, you looked at him at the other end of the couch, he seemed to mind his own business and is very cold.

• You tried to play with the toy stick with a mouse attached on the end only for him to ignore you completely. He didn't even spared you a single glance. You never thought there will be a time where your heart was broken by a cat. From that moment, you made a vow to yourself that you would make him love you.

• You started by inching closer, petting his head. At first, he moved away from your hand and ran off. But, you didn't stop and kept on trying until he would only flinch for a bit, but never run away. Though, he never purred.

• Then one day, you came home later than usual from work. To your surprise, you saw Zayne by the porch of your front door, as if waiting for you. You took him into your arms, snuggling him close. "You must've been worried. I'm sorry." Once they're inside, he jumped out of your arms and went back to his usual self. You only chuckled, this is the most affection you can get from him and you won't complain anymore.

• The next morning. You slowly opened your eyes, expecting to see what she always sees in the morning, but a tuff of black fur blocks your vision. Your heart warms and melts. This is the first time Zayne has slept on your bed and right next to you. Most importantly, he's purring. Your hand moves on its own and gently pets his head, he slightly opens his eyes, his gaze on you for a bit and went back to sleep, purring even louder.

Writing is very therapeutic to me. I can freely write down my ideas and let them unfold.

Thank you for reading until the end.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader

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cl6teen · 10 months

Text

GQ COUPLES QUIZ ⍟ CL16

a GQ interview featuring the paddock’s favourite couple

mature/crude language and jokes, fluff, sexual/suggestive innuendos but not a lot, inaccurate tellings of the 2023 season, a lot of questions/inspo taken from the actual couples quizzes on GQ’s yt (rosalia and rauw) reblogs/interactions always appreciated !!

cl6teen 2023. do not copy/repost any of my works/ideas pls!

charles: i’m camera shy so maybe you should start!

y/n: you’re literally the least camera shy person i know, charles.

he laughs and readjusts himself in the wooden chair, placing his hands on the armrests to get comfortable just before speaking.

y/n: get on with it.

charles: hello, i’m charles leclerc, a driver for the scuderia ferrari formula one team.

y/n: and i’m y/n l/n, a model and partial social media influencer.

charles: and today we are here with GQ to do the couples quiz!

you smile, holding the stack of cards in your hands up to the camera.

y/n: i’m going to be asking charles some questions about myself and our relationship, so let’s see if he’s really the paddock’s boyfriend of the season.

charles: i am.

his face is stoic when he meets your eyes, leaving your mouth to tremble in a futile attempt to bite back a giggle. his silence doesn’t last long, laughing at the sight of you doubling over in your seat.

y/n: you’re so serious!

y/n: okay! first question of the day, cha: what is my favourite colour?

charles: come on, this is easy! it’s (fav colour), you’re wearing it now

y/n: correct! you actually bought this for me at the start of the year.

cockily, his eyes pan to the camera and he quick a quick shrug as if to say, ‘no big deal about it’, but you don’t catch it.

y/n: what is my go-to karaoke song?

charles: oh, fuck.

you laugh at the way his eyes widen, mocking his words with a deep tone.

y/n: oh. charles leclerc you should know this.

charles: nono i do, i do mate! give me a moment.

the camera zooms into his face, placing calculations across the screen as he’s searches around in his head for the answer—you just went on a karaoke date some nights before; it was in there somewhere.

charles: ah! voulez-vous by ABBA.

y/n: i should dock you half a point for taking so long, but i’m feeling generous today so i won’t.

y/n: what has been my favourite grand prix of the season so far?

charles: baku, because i won no?

y/n: australia actually—lewis’ win.

he cocks his head at you with a raised brow as if to ask if you were serious, and you rush to cover your smile with the stack of quiz cards.

y/n: i’m joking, of course it was baku!

you briefly reach for his hand.

y/n: my love’s first of many wins of the season.

charles: it’s my turn for a question now, yes?

y/n: no charles, i’m asking you questions right now! you go after i’m done.

charles: then why is it called the couples quiz, GQ! should be called the y/n quiz.

y/n: do you see how whiny he is? wait your turn.

jabbing your manicured thumb towards the monegasque, you shake your head at the camera.

y/n: next question, what is my hidden talent?

charles: but it’s hidden for a reason right? we cannot say it.

you both laugh at his words.

y/n: a hidden talent that only you know of.

charles: well then i definitely can’t say it out loud, i’d get in trouble.

he smirks boyishly, leaving you to gasp and reach over to smack his shoulder.

y/n: say something else! one that can be said.

charles: ermm, you can memorize any recipe you make once.

y/n: that’s normal though.

charles: no it’s not! it’s very weird how you know the exact measurements of everything without having to check. carlos agrees too!

you shrug and give him the point.

y/n: how did we meet?

you turn to the camera and cover your lips from his view before mouthing, ‘he better know this one’.

charles: we met at the monaco grand prix after party in 2021—lewis introduced us and you were too drunk to remember my name.

charles: you didn’t think i forgot, did you?

y/n: i was hoping you forgot the drunk part.

he laughs at the small pout drawing on your face.

y/n: when and where was our first kiss?

charles: monza, 2021—i have it on this bracelet.

he holds up his wrist to show the camera. right above his forza ferrari bracelet is one that has the aforementioned date engraved on it.

y/n: isn’t he so romantic?

y/n: what’s the first thing i eat after waking up—don’t make a joke.

charles: i wasn’t going to make a joke.

dramatically, you roll your eyes at him — the smile on his face says otherwise.

charles: you have yogurt so you have something to snack on while making your actual breakfast.

charles: i’m an observant man.

y/n: my favourite thing about you. so, what have i always wanted to learn?

charles: like sports? or music?

y/n: hmm…let’s do both for two points.

charles: okay…you’ve always wanted to learn piano.

you nod your head as he counts his fingers.

y/n: correct.

charles: and…you want to learn how to play tennis

y/n: wrong! i know how to play tennis charles. i want to learn how to ski.

charles: but you never come with me on my ski trips!

y/n: you always go when i’m working babe.

he gives an apologetic look, which you return with a small smile.

y/n: this one is a bit difficult, but what is my signature scent?

charles: ah…is it one of the margiela?

y/n: i like some of the scents…but no, it is (fav perfume).

rolling his eyes, he takes your wrist to his nose to get a smell.

charles: ah! you do smell good, though.

y/n: merci, mon amour. what are the three main things that i cannot leave my house without?

charles: three things you can’t leave without?

charles: me, of course.

y/n: that’s true! but apart from you.

charles: your lipgloss, your phone, and a pair of flats. you don’t even need to tell me if i’m right, open her bag and check!

[OFF CAMERA]: he’s right.

charles: bring-bring it here!

a hand emerges past the camera to hand charles the vintage chanel bag. with a shit eating grin on his face he opens the bag towards the camera to reveal the three items listed.

charles: where are the rest of your things, my love!

he laughs at the way you snatch your bag from him.

y/n: first of all, lipgloss is meant to be retouched, and heels aren’t always comfortable.

y/n: plus, when’s i’m with him i never need anything else do i?

charles: what’s your next question?

y/n: what is my night time skin care routine?

charles: ehm…can i get the next next question?

you burst out into laughter, doubling over as you try to collect yourself.

y/n: he didn’t even try!

charles: do you know my skin care routine?

y/n: i gave you your skin care routine!

charles: it’s too complicated to remember. please, next question.

y/n: what is my—who approved these questions?

[OFF CAMERA]: our boss, please continue.

y/n: charles, what is my bra size?

charles: easy, (bra size).

silently, you stare at him in slight confusion that he paid attention to such little detail.

y/n: what is the best way to make me laugh?

charles: hearing my laugh!

y/n: that is true! specifically the one where you kind of sound like a duck.

[OFF CAMERA]: alright charles, you’ve scored eleven points.

charles: that’s a good score, no? think you can beat it?

y/n: of course!

charles inconspicuously reaches for his stack placed on the console inbetween your chairs. there’s a cute smile on his face as he shuffles through his cards.

charles: what was my first f1 win?

y/n: spa, 2019. how could i not know!

charles: that’s true! where do i want us to next travel?

y/n: you didn’t tell me this though! charles always does this thing where he surprises me with our vacation destination.

charles: ah, you’re right.

he goes to shuffle the card to the back, but you’re quick to stop him.

y/n: i can guess, but if i get it correct i get two points. is that allowed?

the both of you pause to look past the camera for a go ahead, which is given by a swift thumbs up from the crew.

y/n: i actually don’t know if you want to go here, but i do. morocco?

charles: correct.

y/n: alright guys, look out for morocco baecation photo dumps on my instagram within the next few months!

charles: next question, if i wasn’t an f1 driver, what would i be?

y/n: a tennis player? i would say a footballer but after that charity match…

charles laughs loudly at the mention of his game and the memory of his dive head first into the pitch ground.

charles: tennis player is one of them, so i’ll give the point out of the kindness of my heart.

charles: so, how many kids do i want?

y/n: you want three, but don’t mind two if i can’t handle the stress of a third child. you don’t mind the genders, but it would be nice to have a least one boy and girl in any order.

charles: you have a great memory, my love.

charles: how can you tell that i’m angry?

y/n: oh my god, it’s always written all over your face cha. you get all like this and your bros furrow so much.

you try your hand at imitating it, clenching you jaw and giving your most menacing look to the camera before showing it to charles.

charles: hey you’re pretty good at it!

y/n: i think it’s quite attractive though, i love when the cameras catch it during the grand prix.

he winks at you.

charles: what is my favourite way to spend time with you?

y/n: sex? am i allowed to say that? can you cut this part out?

charles: who has the corrupted mind now! the answer was cooking together!

you make a helpless face at your boyfriend, almost feeling embarrassed that your words are going to be stuck on youtube for all to see.

y/n: whatever.

charles: what is my favourite animal?

y/n: ah…monkeys?

charles: monkeys? monkeys!?

he leans in closer to your seat in disbelief and slight fear.

y/n: wait wait wait!

charles: i’m afraid of monkeys!

y/n: but the little baby ones are so adorable!

charles: no, absolutely not. no point for you, y/n.

he dramatically crosses his forearms to each other to make a large x at your face.

charles: what is my sign?

y/n: libra, next question.

charles: wait—i don’t even know my sign!

y/n: i was the one who told you it!! it was one of our first dates and you asked me about your birth chart!

charles raises a shocked brow towards the camera.

charles: what is my favourite colour on you?

y/n: red on race day, and then sage green or white normally.

charles: it’s lovely seeing your girlfriend in your colour, no?

charles: what is the most annoying thing that comes alongside living with you?

y/n: absolutely nothing.

charles: is that your final answer?

y/n: would it be anything else…?

you both sit and stare at one another in silence.

charles: i don’t like how majority of our bed is taken up by stuffed animals.

you groan loudly at him, reaching over to swat his thigh.

charles: ow! okay, i’ll ask you one more question for redemption. what would be my ideal retirement plan?

y/n: obviously we’ll be married and hopefully with kids. you wouldn’t mind staying in monaco but you’d also like to try living in italy—but in the countryside on a large plot of land.

charles: are you sure that’s not your retirement plan?

y/n: charles leclerc.

charles: okay okay, you’re correct!

y/n: i’m pretty sure i just moped your ass in this quiz

[OFF CAMERA]: actually y/n, you only scored nine points.

charles claps obnoxiously with a wide smile on his face, to which you flip him off and brush him aside.

charles: hah! i guess that settles it!

y/n: whatever, i have you beat in lots of other things.

charles: not this though—but i believe our time is up!

turning to face the camera, you both give a curt wave.

both: thanks for watching our GQ couples quiz!

…

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, GQ, and 890,555 others

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charles_leclerc stays in morocco ❤️

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #cl16 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #cl16 #cl16 imagine

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heyjwi · 9 months

Text

night drive | pjs

synopsis: your boyfriend got his first car and wanted to treat you to a late night drive. his hands gripped the wheel tightly and all you could imagine was him gripping your neck.

_________________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

dom!jisung x fem reader

warnings : smut, public/car sex (not seen by anyone), choking, riding, breeding kink, pet names

jisung only recently bought his first car, a black mercedes e class. as you googled how it looked, you immediately got attracted to one thing about it. there was ambient lighting all around, it would definitely make night drives more romantic and calming.

your boyfriend was so excited to show you how cool his car was that he immediately dragged you out of your shared apartment as soon as he got home from the car shop. you couldn’t wait either, elated to see how hot jisung would look as he drove.

before you knew it, you two were on the road, he said he was just going to drive around the city which you had no problem with. the lights in the car illuminated a deep purple, it was hard to focus on the scenery as jisung kept spinning the stirring wheel literally every single second and for some reason he wore specs as well, this man was actually trying to kill you.

his hands were oddly attractive today, his veins popped out more due to his tight grip on the wheel. you turned away to avoid having weird thoughts but couldn’t help to look at him again.

“ji.. why do you keep doing that.”

you asked, fed up as you felt your body getting warmer. he looked at you for a split second and chuckled. “i’m not doing anything, my love” he said, placing his hand on your thigh. he grinned slyly, sliding his hand up between your legs, rubbing closely near to your crotch.

you knew exactly what he was trying to do, softly moaning as you adjusted yourself on the car seat. he groaned, feeling your legs clench his hands "seems like my plans working.." he whispered breathlessly, leaning to kiss you passionately as he stopped at a red light.

you pulled away and stared into his eyes, already feeling yourself getting wet. “go somewhere private ji..” he smirked mischievously and zoomed off as soon as the light turned green, pulling into a dark alleyway nearby. you climbed over, sitting on his lap and pouting at him.

he leaned in to kiss you passionately "you’re so pretty tonight" he grunted, sliding his fingers around your waist "i’ve been dreaming of this for a while now..." he growled softly pressing himself against you grinding his hips slowly against yours while still holding you close to him. you moaned and grinded on his lap, hands sitting on the window. jisung pulled off his specs, placing them down in the cup holder area.

he pushed his seat all the way back allowing you full access to his lap. he smiled proudly seeing how turned on you looked, "we can do this right?" he asked stroking your thighs affectionately, waiting for your consent. in response, you just bounced on his clothed cock, nodding as his hands gripped your waist tightly.

he pulled your shirt over your head, removing his own as you sat on him, grinding on his hard cock. his abs shone with a hint of purple that filled the car, he was so incredibly tempting. you sped up as you moaned loudly, feeling yourself release from just grinding down on him. he smiled lovingly, leaning up to kiss you before starting to caress your covered breasts "you want me inside you hm?", he teased rubbing your nipples through the thick fabric of your bra. "fucking your boyfriend in his new car, where anyone could see you"

you couldn’t help but moan at his statement, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on your neck. “choke me ji..” you mumbled. he nodded, watching as your lips quivered "as you wish my love...". he wrapped his arms tightly around your neck, choking you gently "so this is what you like?" he hummed against your ear enjoying every second of it. you let out a stuttered moan, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

he grinned widely as he continued squeezing your throat slightly making you gag but not enough to hurt you. "how does that feel?" he asked leaning forward whispering into your ear "do you want more or less pressure?", he squeezed your throat harder and started placing gentle kisses along your jaw. you nodded, wanting to experiment more with him.

he laughed "maybe next time". releasing his grip on your throat allowing you to breath. he held your waist instead, smiling as you caught your breath. he pushed you downwards, your face resting near his crotch. jisung groaned softly as he pulled his pants down revealing his hard, leaking cock. he moaned rubbing himself gently “you know what i want right?"

you nodded, opening your mouth wide enough to fit his big size. he thrusted forward burying his entire length inside of your throat quickly causing you to gag slightly but you started sucking eagerly wanting to please him. he grunted at how obedient you were. "i love you so much.."

he slowed down his pace pulling out until just the tip remained in your mouth then slamming back in, making you choke loudly "a-ahh..." he groaned out loudly. jisung felt his body tense, "you're doing great.." he smiled patting your head affectionately "just keep going princess, i’m almost there..” he picked up the speed again ramming his thick shaft down your throat rapidly, forcing you to swallow everything.

you swallowed it all and wiped your lips, slowly moving up to sit on him. his grip tightened around your waist firmly as you pushed your panties to the side, slowly starting to ride him. grabbing his glasses and putting them on yourself, he groaned softly as he thrusted upwards into you. increasing the speed gradually and moaning loudly, seeing you in his glasses really turned him on.

he increased his pace once more, slamming into you with every thrust. "you’re so wet for me baby." his words were enough to make you cum but you tried to hang on, placing your hands on the window as the air in the car grew even warmer. he continued to pound into you, feeling your pussy convulse around his cock as he filled you up with his cum. he withdrew his cock from you, he watched as your body trembled in pleasure.

he held onto you, feeling your body pressed up against his chest. "you okay?", his glasses slipping off of your face.

you nodded in response, slowly sitting up to take the glasses off and unclasp your bra, he was enjoying the view of your bare chest. squeezing your nipples gently. "round two?" he said, getting harder as your breasts were practically in his face.

he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you impossibly closer, shoving himself inside you harshly. jisungs grip tightened even further, making sure you couldn't escape from him. "let me hear your voice baby" he growled, slamming himself harder against your body each time he spoke. "scream for me"

you let out a loud moan, chanting his name repeatedly, feeling your whole body shake, the car started shaking as well due to how fast he was going. he chuckled deeply, continuing to pound away at you relentlessly. his breathing became heavier as moans kept falling from your lips, sweat dripping off his forehead. “you’re all mine.. mine.." he cried out suddenly, filling you up with his seed.

it dripped from your pussy, your lips letting out another loud moan, causing him to smile. he gently placed you onto the backseat, moving behind you and pushing your hips up. he smirked, taking a moment to admire your fucked out expression before opening your legs, he started licking your pussy hungrily. "gonna give your body all the attention it deserves tonight."

you gasped loudly , burying your face in your hands. he grinned, giving your thighs a playful slap before eating you out messily. he licked faster, pushing two fingers inside your hole while doing so. you squeezed around his fingers “i-i can’t take-“ you shook violently as cum spilt out of you, accompanied by a loud, erotic moan.

he smiled warmly, pulling his fingers out slowly. “one more round princess.. im so fucking hard." he pushed your waist down until you were laying flat against the seat. lifting you onto his lap and sliding his cock inside of you slowly at first, then began picking up speed. "see.. how horny i am for you..” you couldn’t even reply, you were in a daze, feeling your head fall back.

jisung wrapped his arms around you, thrusting deeply into you. "that’s right, take my cock. take it all..." he kissed your neck tenderly as he continued fucking into you. he leaned forward, kissing you passionately while continuing to fuck you roughly. "so fucking beautiful.. gonna fill you up.”

you kept chanting his name, whining out how good he was. his mind soared with pleasure, loving the way you squirmed under him. he was addicted to you. "so beautiful.." he cupped your breasts with one hand, thumbing your nipples hard as he continued pumping into you.

the car steamed up, filled with grunts and wet slapping sounds. he slammed into you harder, growling like an animal. “gonna breed you hmm, you’re gonna be so pretty.." his fingers dug into your hips as he fucked into you savagely.

you couldn’t help but cum hard at his words. he let out a loud grunt, filling you with his warm seed and moaning in satisfaction as he held you tightly. he kissed you fiercely, biting your lip as he pulled away. jisung gently pushed his cum into you with one last thrust before pulling out. he put his pants back on and turned his attention to you, grabbing a wet wipe from the front compartment to clean you up, helping you dress up before sitting back in the drivers seat, adjusting it to its normal state.

“you should rest a little, i’ll wake you up when we get home.”, he said, putting his specs back on and turning around to smile at you innocently, as if he didn’t just fuck you stupid.

#nct dream x reader #nct dream reactions #jisung hard hours #nct dream smut #park jisung smut #nct hard thoughts #nct smut #park jisung #jisung nct #jisung smut #nct drabbles #jisung hard thoughts #park jisung hard hours #nct dream hard hours #jisung x reader

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zumistew · 2 months

Text

holding their hand

Tokyo revengers boys holding your hand for the first time

includes: Draken, Mitsuya, Baji x fem!reader

tags: fluff, flirting, protectiveness??

A/N: this is my first story so it may not be perfect

Draken

Draken was never good at communicating his feelings which made you unsure if your crush was reciprocated. You were now walking home after watching a movie with Ken that you invited him to. Although the two of you were walking home in silence it was weirdly comforting.

“Y/N” Draken calls out looking down to your small figure next to him. “Yes” you respond looking up at him with a faint smile. Draken has a stoic expression on his face but his eyes show a bit of uncertainty, “do you think it was wrong of me to let Pah-chin turn himself in…..be honest.” You pause for a moment to process his question “no…what makes you ask that.” Drakens body slightly relaxes as a slight, almost unnoticeable smile creeps up on his face, “no reason.”

You two continue to walk in silence along the pier. As you see a smoothie spilt on the ground you push closer to him to avoid stepping in it. Before you increase the distance between the two of you again he grabs your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours. You look up at him confused with a small smile. “You alright Y/N?” he ask you with a smirk.

Mitsuya

You were a member of mitsuyas sewing club and ended up staying later than usual to work on a dress. Mitsuya offered to stay back with you to help you work on it. He was now walking you home since he insisted because it’s the “gentleman thing to do.”

“I bet that dress will look great on you Y/N” Mitsuya says with a smile as he looks at you. “I hope so…and thanks for helping me work on it” you respond back to him with a smile.

Yall now approach a cross walk as y’all wait for the cars to stop. “Don’t hesitate to ask me for help I’m always happy to help you” he says as he places a hand on top of your head. You smile as y’all begin to cross the street.

A car begins to speed down the street ignoring the red light. He grabs your hand to stop you from walking any further as the car zooms past the two of you

“Thanks” you smile at mitsuya. he nods “people should be more aware of what’s going on around them, he could hit someone” he says as he’s still holding your hand even after you two have finished crossing the street. You look down at the two of your interlocked hands and look up at him. “Do you want me to let go?” He ask with an innocent smirk.

Baji

you and Baji had the same class together and occasionally talked. Earlier that day he asked you to tutor him, you were now both leaving the school pretty late because of your prolonged tutor session. You two both happened to live in the same direction which forced you two to walk home together.

You two were now passing by a not so safe area and noticed a group of guys staring at the two of yall. They began to approach the two of you and you notice Baji become tense. “Come on this side of me” Baji states in a serious tone as he grabs your shoulders to place you on the side of him the group of guys weren’t approaching.

“It’s pretty late why are yall out” one of the members of the group ask with a smirk. A stoic look appears on Bajis face “why do you care.” “How did you pull this pretty thing” another member ask as he approaches you. Bajis eyes go wide with anger as he grabs your hand to aggressively pull you away from the guy before kicking him onto the floor.

The group looks startled as one of the guys try to tend to the guy on the floor knocked unconscious. Baji grips your hand tighter as he tries to get you away from the scene that just unfolded, the group of guys not even bothering to chase him being concerned about there friend.

You look at him with wide eyes “who knew you had so much strength what was that?” you ask clearly suprised. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me” Baji says smiling allowing his fangs to show. “But if I knew you had to walk through such a dangerous area I would’ve started walking you home earlier” Baji says slightly squeezing your hand causing you to blush.

Part 2 with other characters?

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rosenhypen · 3 months

Text

mirrorball

˗ˏˋ enha as ts songs

in which ... after months of being with your boyfriend, park sunghoon, you can't help but feel as though he is getting bored of you. feeling as though you will never compare to the beautiful idols he sees on the daily, you try everything to keep him interested.

word count : 3.6k

hurt and comfort, mild swearing, self esteem issues.

"Angel!" The sound of Sunghoon's voice tore you attention away from admiring what you believed to be one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery you had ever seen. It was Christmas morning, your first Christmas as a couple and Sunghoon had given you the magnificent necklace for the occasion. You had asked him where it was from and he told you he had it custom made, making it all the more special. Turning around to face him, you see him recording you using the video camera you had just given him. Your boyfriend had always had an interest in cameras.

Noticing him zooming in on your face, you laugh softly, covering your face with your hands. "Hoon, stop, I'm not wearing any makeup." You respond lightheartedly. He only continues to zoom in on your face.

"You look pretty, though. C'mon show the camera your beautiful face."

Rolling your eyes playfully at his cheesy words, you move your hands from your face. "Well aren't you just perfect?" he chuckles lightly as he zooms out to have everything from your messy bedhead, bare, makeup-free face and fluffy Christmas pyjamas in frame.

"Shut up!" you laugh, moving out of frame to sit down beside Sunghoon. Giggling, your boyfriend placed the camera down on the couch beside him. "Seriously, though, you look so pretty, princess. I'm so lucky to have you." He hummed before pulling you into a soft kiss.

"And this camera is so cool!" He picks the camera up from beside him. "Oh, it's still recording--" the video cut out.

You can't help the bittersweet feeling you get watching this footage back. Sighing, you turn your head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table, watching as the time blinked from 11:59 to 12:00. It's Christmas. This one, your fourth with Sunghoon. Although, this one isn't really with Sunghoon.

He's been really busy recently. Having made a comeback with his group and starting to MC, Sunghoon had been sleeping at the dorms for convenience. This was understandable but you feel as though you never see your boyfriend. You can't help but let your mind wander when you're spending this much time apart. You watch him work alongside girls who literally have being outrageously beautiful as a part of their job description.

This had always been a thought every now and then but you had always brushed it off. Sunghoon showered you with compliments, spent so much time with you and expressed his love for you so clearly. Now that you're seeing him less, though, and now that he's MCing with Jang Wonyoung, someone with virtually perfect looks, you can't brush it off. You can't fight the feeling that you weren't good enough for your boyfriend. You don't understand why he would choose you over all of these incredibly stunning women that he saw on a daily basis, who he very much had a chance with.

Shaking your head at yourself, you pick your phone up to text Sunghoon.

y/n : merry christmas baby

Hes probably asleep. He has been working hard lately. Snuggling under your blankets, you close your eyes to try and sleep only to jolt up at the sound of your phone vibrating. Sunghoon? Nope. Pinterest.

Rolling your eyes, you settle back down to sleep.

The next morning, you notice you still haven't gotten any response from Sunghoon. He's probably busy. He's MCing for the Christmas special award show today.

Starting to get ready for your day, you can't help but spend an extra minute or so staring into the mirror. You doubt that Wonyoung, or any of those beautiful female idols you see have acne scars on their cheeks or freckles and sunspots on their noses. Blinking at your reflection, you quickly start to apply your foundation, trying your best to shake that strange feeling in your stomach off.

It wasn't until you were eating dinner with your family that Sunghoon finally responded to you. You immediately excused yourself from the table and went out to the hallway upon receiving his text.

hoonie : sorry, ive been rlly busy today hoonie : merry christmas babe

Sitting down on the bottom step of the staircase, you call him only for your call to be rejected after a few seconds of ringing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you move your phone from your ear to see that Sunghoon was typing

hoonie : can't talk rn sorry hoonie : im practicing with wonyoung for our special stage later hoonie : talk soon, ok?

Just replying to the last message with a heart reaction, you place your phone down beside you. You feel a lump in your throat as you twist your lips to the side, fiddling with the cuffs of your sleeves.

Letting out a shaky breath, you stand up and go back to sit at the dinner table.

It was two days later when Sunghoon was finally able to come by and hang out. The two of you had planned to exchange gifts and you were beyond excited to see your boyfriend. Having washed your hair and done your makeup nicely, you sit on the couch in a pretty red dress, buzzing with anticipation.

Hearing the door unlock, you quickly hop up from your couch to greet your boyfriend. "Hii!" You call out before even seeing him. Once face to face with him, you see that the exhaustion is visible on his face. Regardless, you smile brightly at him, waiting for him to speak.

Sunghoon's eyes moved from your face down to your outfit, then to his own sweats. He blinked once, then twice, then looked up at you. "Was I supposed to dress nice? I'm sorry." You can't help the way your smile falters a little at his words. Was that all he had to say? He hadn't seen you in person in over two weeks.

Trying your best not to take it to heart, you shake your head. "No, of course not, I just got this dress recently and wanted a chance to wear it-- Come on, I want to give your your gifts." You blurt out all at once, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the couch.

Once you were both situated on the couch, you hand him your gift box. Unwrapping it carefully, Sunghoon looked at his gifts and smiled softly. You had crocheted a penguin plushie keyring for him, bought him some of his favourite snacks, made him a card and gotten him a bracelet.

You had originally seen the bracelet in a shop window and you immediately knew that Sunghoon would love it. You spent months saving up for it, pinching every last penny until you could finally buy it for him. Honestly, Sunghoon could probably purchase it himself without blinking an eyes, but it was a lot of money for you.

"Thank you so much, baby," he hums, picking the crocheted penguin up. "This is so cute."

"Oh, but the bracelet, did you see the bracelet?" You speak eagerly. "I did, its really nice, thank--" Before he can even finish his sentence, you're taking the bracelet out of the box and pulling his sleeve up to put it on for him.

You stop in your tracks, though, when you see the exact same bracelet you had gotten for him already on his wrist. "Ah.." he says quietly.

"Since when do you have this?" You ask as you look up at his face, disappointed and confused.

"Oh, well, Wonyoung and I decided to buy each other a small gift each to celebrate our special stage going well. We worked really hard on it." He explains. Sensing the awkwardness between the two of you, he speaks up again. "I mean, you definitely know what I like, I picked it out myself.

Small. Small gift. Another girl had already given him the gift you had spent months saving up for as a small gift. A memento, even. You nod. "I see.."

"Oh, open your gift." He says, quickly handing you your present as a way to try and ease the tension.

He had gifted you a black and gold Prada bracelet along with a Prada lipstick. You thank him profusely, telling him that he didn't need to spend so much money on you.

Both of you now having opened your respective gifts, you ask your boyfriend if he'd like a drink. He says that he's alright and you head to the kitchen to get one for yourself. Entering the kitchen, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. As you start to pour yourself a glass of water, you hear Sunghoon calling from the living room. "Hey, babe? I have to go." "What?" Making his way to stand in the door frame, he speaks again. "My manager just texted me. He wants me to meet with him." he explains. "Talk to you soon, yeah?" he says, followed by a chaste kiss before leaving your apartment.

Standing in the middle of your kitchen wordlessly, you can't stop rhe tears from forming in your eyes.

That evening, you decide to take a look at Sunghoon's recent special stage with Wonyoung. Usually, when watching a performance your boyfriend was in, your eyes were glued to his figure the whole time. This time, however, as much as it feels like torture, you can't seem to tear your eyes away from Wonyoung.

The next day, you and Sunghoon had planned to go out for dinner.

Sitting at your vanity, you stare at your reflection for a few seconds, wondering how to do your makeup and hair. After a few seconds of thinking, you pull your phone out. You can't help but feel stupid as instead of straightening your hair as usual, you add volume and add delicate waves and instead of your usual matte, semi-nude lip colour, you opt for a deep pink lip tint instead, following a picture of the famous Jang Wonyoung as a reference.

It wasn't long before Sunghoon showed up at your door wearing his usual masked, all-black attire, looking noticeably less tired than yesterday. "Hey, princess." he speaks with a small smile. "You look pretty." You smile softly at the compliment although it feels a little weird. You had tried to make yourself look like Wonyoung and he was calling you pretty. You shake your head at yourself. It was a hairstyle and some lip tint. You need to relax. "Thank you.." you hum quietly as you grab your jacket.

He holds his hand out for you and you take it, heading out for your date. The two of you chat while eating and Sunghoon tells you all about he's been up to recently, seemingly purposefully leaving Wonyoung's name out of the equation.

"Are you doing anything for New year's?" he asks you. You're somewhat surprised, it's the 28th and Sunghoon hadn't mentioned New Year's eve at all up until now, so you assumed he would be working or something. "Oh, no. I'm not. You're not busy?"

You make plans for you to ring in the new year at Sunghoon's dorm with him and his members.

After heading back to your apartment, Sunghoon washes up and changes into the sweats he keeps there. Emerging from your room, he plops down on the couch next to you. "I'll go wash up, too." You say as you stand up. "Okay. Oh, baby?" He calls as you start to walk away, causing you to turn around. "I really like your hair today. It's so pretty." Ah. You give him a small smile, which he returns before heading to the bathroom.

He ends up sleeping over and when you wake up the next morning, the two of you decide to go get some coffee. Doing your makeup with your usual matte, semi-nude lip and straightening your hair as normal. As usual, Sunghoon changed back into his all-black clothes and put his mask on. Getting your coffees to go, the two of you walk back to your apartment and sit together in your kitchen to drink your coffees before making some breakfast. Once finished with breakfast, Sunghoon leaves to go to dance practice.

Not a single compliment. He didn't call you pretty once today.

The next day Sunghoon invites you to hang out at his dorm for a bit. You decide to use that picture of Wonyoung as a reference again. The voluminous, wavy hair and the pink lip lip tint. This time, though, you take it a step further by finding the same shade of blush, which is more pink than your usual shade and copy her placement.

When you get to his dorm, Sunghoon smiles softly at you, engulfing you in a hug. Pulling back to look at you, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You look beautiful." The two of you just hang out in his room and cuddle for a few hours. "Did you do your makeup different today?" he asks, kind of catching you off-guard. "Uh, just different blush." You say quietly. "It looks really pretty" he smiles at you. You just nod quietly. "Thanks.."

After a bit, you head home.

Laying in bed that night, you're lost in thought. He really does prefer you when you do your makeup like Wonyoung. It was bothering you but if it made him find you pretty, what was the harm? It wasn't like he was complimenting Wonyoung. He was complimenting you. It does leave a sour taste in your mouth, though.

You feel like a stalker as you find yourself scrolling through pictures of Wonyoung, talking in every detail of her makeup, her hair, her style.

Soon enough, you fall asleep, your mind filled with thoughts of how to do your makeup, your hair and what to wear to see Sunghoon to ring in the new year tomorrow.

It was 6:45 pm when you began getting ready to see your boyfriend. Freshly showered, you dry your hair with a round brush to add volume and put the waves in your hair that Sunghoon seems to love so much. Instead of just the lip tint and blush, you copy her eye makeup, too and wear some lip gloss, having noticed that in a lot of the pictures you had seen last night.

Wearing a white mini dress, you leave to meet Sunghoon. He showers you with compliments all night and its working you up more and more. He just wants you to be a carbon copy of the woman he works with, doesn't he? Heading to the bathroom at 11:55, you reapply your lip gloss.

"3, 2, 1! Happy New Year!" Sunghoon leans in and kisses you softly.

"God, I hate that stuff." Sunghoon spoke lightheartedly in reference to the lip gloss, wiping his lips with his arm. "Are you serious?" "Huh?" "Are you serious?" Confused, Sunghoon tilts his head at you. "What do you mean, babe?" "I'm wearing it for you." He furrows his eyebrows. "Because Wonyoung wears it, and clearly you like her a lot fucking more than me." Sunghoon stares at you with wide eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?" The other members are starting to look at you now, confused.

"I mean, seriously, do you even like me? Not my makeup, not my hair. Me. Do you think I'm pretty? Or is that only when I'm fucking cosplaying as Wonyoung. If I'm not good enough for you just say it, because I can't keep pretending to be someone else." Your voice cracks a little and Sunghoon looks beyond confused.

"You only ever compliment me when I do my hair and makeup like her. You only think I'm pretty when I try to look like her." Your eyes are steadily filling with tears now, and Sunghoon swears he can feel his heart breaking more and more with each word you say. "Of course I think you're pretty. You're beautiful, Y/N."

"Well it doesn't seem like it, does it? If you're bored just say that. I wouldn't blame you, to be honest, she's perfect and talented and you're out of my league." You sniffle, rushing to go grab your jacket. "Y/N?" Sunghoon calls after you as you walk out the door. Running after you, he grabs you by your shoulders and turns you around. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't make time for you, I'm sorry that I don't compliment you enough, I'm sorry that I made you feel like you weren't good enough. I love you so much, princess, and I promise you, I find you so pretty. I genuinely feel you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on. I got too comfortable. I got so used to having you that I forgot how lucky I truly am. I do find you pretty. I think it every time I see you even when I don't say it. Every time I called you pretty while you were trying to be like someone else was because I do find you pretty. No matter your makeup or your hairstyle. I only said it then because I noticed that you did something different with your appearance. It made me think you wanted it to be acknowledged. You're more than enough for me. You're everything. You're the only one I want. I could never be bored of you. I took you for granted, and I'm sorry."

You blink slowly at him, trying to take in everything he had just said to you.

"Please don't go." he speaks, his voice cracking. "I love you."

You can't say no to him. Hugging him tightly, you bury your face in his chest. He strokes your hair gently, genuinely heartbroken that he had made you feel this way.

After spending more time talking everything out last night, you slept over.

The following morning, you wake up to see Sunghoon still sleeping. Heading to the bathroom, you begin to wash your face. As you're drying your face with a towel, you hear Sunghoon's voice calling out from behind you.

"Angel!" Turning around to look at him, you see him recording you with his video camera, a cheeky grin on his face. You cover your face with the towel. "Hey, show your face." He pouts. You reluctantly move the towel from your face. "You're so beautiful."

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